Broken Fellowship 4: Window of the Sunset
by Lizardbeth J
Summary: Legolas and Sam continue their journey to Mordor. But Gollum is on their trail, the Ringwraiths are hunting the Ring, and Legolas knows he is running out of time...
1. The Coming of Nightfire

_Disclaimer: Based on 'The Lord of the Rings', by JRR Tolkien. This is a non-commercial work. No infringement of copyright is intended._

"Window of the Sunset" is the fourth in the _Broken Fellowship Series_. It is ** strongly** recommended that you read the previous stories first. This one picks up immediately after the end of _Hill of Breaking_ and presumes knowledge of all previous stories. You'll understand and appreciate this one more, if you have read the other three, I promise. 

Phrases in Sindarin (elvish) are translated at the bottom of each page where they appear.

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The Broken Fellowship, Book IV:

_Window of the Sunset_

_Chapter 1: The Coming of Nightfire_

by Lizardbeth Johnson

  


    Once, long ago, the Pendrath Forn had served as the only way to portage a boat around the high Falls of Rauros. The Gondorians had dug a channel to the west side of the falls and built a system of pulleys and cranes to pull boats from the water and set them in wheeled cradles. These cradles were pulled along a long ramp with many switchbacks before ending in another channel into the lower Anduin. The ropes and pulley system were long gone, and only the ramp remained, cut into the rock of the escarpment. 

    Sam looked with dismay on the ruins. The long ramp began to their right, and Sam could see that it was overgrown with bracken and slender trees. Worse, rocks and even large boulders had tumbled from the cliff-face onto the ramp.

    Legolas noticed it too. "Aragorn's plan to carry the boats this way would never have worked. If the way is this blocked up here, I am certain it is worse below."

    "Can we get through?"

    "Let us try the stairs first," Legolas suggested. He continued up a low hill toward the remnant of a stone structure on the southern rim.

    A more direct way existed for people to use -- these were the stairs of the name. Each flight had one hundred forty-four steps, which ended in a landing and another set of steps that reversed direction. Unlike the steps of the dwarves, however, these had stone balustrades to keep people from falling and were shallow and broad enough for a horse to use. Every other landing was the wide ramp used by the boats, as the stairs cut back and forth between the longer ramp switchbacks.

    The two picked their way around and through the randomly scattered blocks and shattered statuary that had once been the impressive northern gate of Gondor.

    A carved and weathered high stone arch was all that remained and the two paused beneath it, to look at the fields of the south laid out before them.

    The sun was bright and the sky was clear, above the endless green plain that stretched southward as far as Sam could see. The plain was broken by only a few smudges of darker green here and there, where trees grew on the slightly higher elevations. He could see the shining bright ribbon of the Anduin winding its way gently southeast and other sparkles he assumed were other rivers.

    On the horizon far to the south was the long line of the Grey Mountains stretching east to west, and to the southeast, beyond the Anduin, towered the black crags of the Ephel Dúath crowned with storm clouds.

    Sam glanced up, to see Legolas looking intently toward the Ephel Dúath. "Mordor," Legolas murmured, rubbing his left hand absently. Sam had noticed that it was a habit of Legolas' whenever the topic of Mordor came up, after he had lost his finger to the ring.

    "It looks far," Sam said.

    "Less than forty leagues," Legolas answered. "A little more to the Morgul vale." He glanced down at his hobbit friend and quirked a small smile. "Compared to what we have already traveled, Sam, it's quite near."

    "Well, that makes me feel better."

    Legolas ignored his sarcasm, answering. "Good. There is our road, Sam." He raised his arm and pointed southwards. Sam squinted and saw nothing but green.

    "It is overgrown," Legolas murmured. "Crumbling. But Gondor built to last in those days."

    The longer he looked down below and squinted, the more Sam realized that there was a nearly straight line proceeding from the foot of the escarpment pointing south. It was visible only as a paler shade of green and brown, but he supposed it marked the road.

    Legolas continued, "It will make our journey across the Onodló easier."

    Sam remembered the maps he had studied with Frodo, and knew the Onodló was the Entwash, an inland river delta that ran into the Anduin. That reminded him of a problem. "But, Legolas, we'll have to cross the Anduin at some point. Celeborn said that we have to have a boat, and we don't anymore."

    The elf did not answer immediately, looking at something toward Mordor with those sharp elvish eyes. "We will have to find one. But better to journey this route than through the marshes on the eastern shore, I think. Come, we should start."

    Legolas led the way down the stairs and Sam followed, watching his step carefully. Though the steps were mostly carved in hard rock and therefore still existed, in many places they had worn away into a bracken-covered path. The stone railing was also patchy and in places it had crumbled away into rubble on the steps below. On Legolas' advice Sam stayed on the inside of the path nearest the cliff where it was more stable.

    Still there were spots where he needed Legolas' help to cross the deep gullies that cracked the staircase across its path. About halfway down they discovered a place where the stairs had separated from the cliff face and dropped away to leave a gap too wide for either to jump. Legolas stood on the crumbling edge and looked down.

    "There is a drop of ten paces onto the stairs below us," he said. "The railing is missing there as well, but the steps themselves look firm. I can jump down but I don't think you should."

    "No, certainly not," Sam agreed fervently.

    "I can lower you down on the rope Lady Galadriel gave you. Or," he raised his gaze to consider the other side of the gap. "I could throw you across."

    "The rope idea seems fine," Sam agreed hurriedly to try and get the image of Legolas tossing him across a ten pace wide gap out of his head. He shrugged out of his pack and took out the coil of slender elvish rope.

    Legolas tied a length around Sam's waist, knotted it firmly, and then did the same around his own waist. "Ready?"

    Sam re-shouldered his pack and scooted to the edge. It seemed very far, when he looked down. "I crossed the bridge of Khazad-dûm," he muttered, trying to give himself courage. "This is nothing."

    "You walked the _stairs _of Khazad-dûm, which were far more dangerous," Legolas reminded him and had an amused glint in his eyes when Sam looked up at him. "Try not to look down."

    Then the edge crumbled and Sam lost his footing. He yelped as he fell a few paces, then grunted as the rope caught him, digging in around his waist.

    "Hold on, Sam," Legolas called. 

    Grabbing the rope, Sam relieved some of the pressure on his middle, as Legolas lowered him down. After his feet touched, Sam tensed to see if the ground would hold his weight. "I'm down," he called up and immediately the slack in the rope slithered down to land at his feet.

    Legolas' head appeared over the edge. "Move up the stairs," he requested. "And brace yourself."

    "Why?"

    "In case I fall. This would not be the first time the ring tried to throw me over the edge of some steps."

    With that grim, rather frightening, reminder, Legolas disappeared from view. Sam moved up the slope a little ways, and took hold of the rope firmly in both hands. "Ready."

    Legolas walked calmly off the edge above and dropped, his cloak billowing. He landed lightly and without a stumble, and straightened with a pleased smile. "Good. I mislike doubting my skills."

    They coiled the rope again, but Sam left it hanging around Sting's hilt, in case they needed it again. But that was the worst of it, since the lower steps had been more protected from wind and water.

    At the bottom, they walked out onto a vast courtyard. There had once been a sort of walled colonnade, Sam thought, but all but a few of the columns had fallen. Dirt and water had filled in the middle, and it seemed untouched by any beings in centuries. 

    The grass and weeds grew nearly to Sam's shoulder and so Legolas took the lead to break a trail for him across the courtyard. On the other side they climbed over masonry and eventually found the road.

    All that was left was an unusually flat path which stood half Sam's height higher than its surroundings, wide enough for six horses to ride abreast, and was covered with greenery that did not grow as high nor as green as the other plants. In spots the road was crumbling or washed away entirely, but it was not difficult to find again. But in other places, the road was made of stone and there it endured, touched little by the centuries. In any case it was one of the easiest journeys Sam had in a long time.

    They walked until the sun slanted low in the west. Legolas then left the road and found a small stand of trees for camp. Sam started a fire with some of the dead wood.

    "What would you like for dinner, Sam?" the elf asked and Sam had to smile -- Legolas sounded like an innkeeper. "The rabbits here are so plentiful I think I might be able to hold out my hand and let one jump into it. Or I can shoot a bird for you. There are partridges, and ducks closer to the river."

    Sam didn't have to think about it a long time. He'd had a lot of duck on the way down the Anduin. Partridges would cook faster than ducks, and be less chewy than rabbits. 

    As Legolas stalked off west toward a promising stand of scrubby bushes with his bow ready, Sam glanced north to the high cliffs of Emyn Muil glimmering pink in the twilight, rather amazed that he had climbed down that height. From a distance, the long boat ramp really did look like stairs, built for giant people.

    He became uncomfortably aware that he was alone. Always before there had been someone with him in camp -- Merry and Pippin at the least and usually Gimli, when the big folk hunted supper.

    A southern wind stirred the early spring grass and the winter-bare tree branches over his head. The rustling sound made him uneasy.

    He tried to shake it off, drinking a little water from his container. "Just your foolishness, Samwise Gamgee," he muttered.

    But not long after, as the twilight deepened and Legolas still didn't return, Sam pulled Sting to check. The blade was thankfully dark.

    "What are you doing, Sam?" 

    Legolas' voice startled him and instead of putting the blade back, he pulled it out completely. "Oh, you're back." Embarrassed, he shoved Sting back in its sheath.

    Legolas held three partridges by the feet. "I skewered two with one arrow," he announced, pleased with himself. "I thought you could cook all three and eat them tomorrow as well. But you will need to clean them yourself."

    Sam frowned across the fire at him, but didn't ask why. North of the Emyn Muil Legolas had not cleaned any of his kills either. Sam figured it had something to do with Legolas' inability to eat any food other than _lembas_. "That seems fair. How's your food supply?"

    "I took all the _lembas_. I have plenty."

    "And how many is 'plenty'?" Sam asked, not about to let Legolas be so vague. Now that they were on their own, Legolas no longer had Aragorn looking after him. And Lady Galadriel had said that the elf would need Sam.

    Legolas hesitated as if he were about to lie or refuse to answer, but instead answered, "Six."

    "That's all?" Sam stared at him in horror. The elves at Lothlórien had said that one cake was enough for a day. Six days were not enough to get them even close to Mordor. "Why did we stop so early? We should keep going."

    Legolas shook his head and caught his cloak as Sam got to his feet. "Sam, it's all right. That's enough for three weeks."

    "But --"

    "Poor waybread would it be for elves if we needed to eat very much of it," he reassured Sam. "A bite is enough to last the day."

    Sam frowned at him, doubting that Legolas was telling the full truth. That was not what the other elves had said. But since the _lembas_ was all that Legolas could eat, Sam couldn't very well press him on exactly when he would start to starve. He accepted Legolas' words with a nod. "Oh, well, that's all right then. I'll just go fetch some water so I can clean these."

    Later, one partridge in his stomach and the others in a bag hanging from the tree, Sam asked curiously, "I know that this is part of Rohan now, but it all looks abandoned long before then. Do you know what happened?"

    Legolas nibbled on his _lembas_ and drank a little water before answering. "I am not certain when Amon Hen and the Pendrath Forn were abandoned. But I know by the time of the Great Plague, Gondor could no longer sustain its power this far north. That was about a thousand years of the sun before the Rohirrim came south." His gaze was distant, looking out into the night. "The evil wind killed many of my people's allies in Rhovanion. Countless died. Many of my people said that we should retreat within the forest away from death, but my father refused. We were, he said, not affected by this sickness and so we should help those in need. But we saved so few..."

    "You sound as if you were there."

    "I was," Legolas threw a stick into the fire and a brief burst of sparks showered upward.

    Sam stared at him. He had known that elves were immortal and had heard Elrond declare himself born in the First Age, many thousands of years ago. Yet Elrond _seemed _old -- he was grave and wise, even if he showed little of his age in his face. On the other hand, Legolas had often seemed young, even occasionally mischievous, especially in the early days of the fellowship. It had not really occurred to Sam that Legolas was probably far older than he looked. Given what he had just said, Legolas was older than the founding of the Shire and perhaps much more than that.

    Sam opened his mouth to ask just how old Legolas was, when the elf's head whipped around to the north, and he peered back the way they had come.

    "What is it?" Sam asked softly.

    "I heard rocks fall from the Pendrath Forn." For a long moment he continued to watch the cliff face, though even his sharp eyes could surely see little in the dark at such a distance. He turned back to camp.

    Sam doubted the rocks had fallen on their own. That did not seem to be their luck on the quest. "Someone's following us?"

    Legolas nodded suddenly grim. "I did not see him, but I am certain it is Gollum."

    "Gollum?" Sam felt his skin creep and he glanced uneasily to the north. "How did he know?"

    "He is sensitive to elves and the ring. I suspect he could follow me to the ends of Middle-Earth," Legolas murmured. "But I can sense him when he comes close, so he will not surprise me." He took the chain out from under his tunic and held the ring in his hand. "He will not steal it."

    Sam watched him, suddenly uneasy. Though spoken quietly, Legolas' words held a chilling promise of death.

    Then Legolas blinked and abruptly rose to his feet, putting the ring out of sight again. "We should put as much distance between him and us tonight as we can. He will not move by daylight tomorrow. We can rest then."

    Sam nodded and started to gather his pack, tying the partridges on top. He kicked over the fire pit to bury the coals and they were ready to move out.

    Legolas led back to the road. As Sam followed in the elf's wake, he glanced back over his shoulder as if expecting the creeping figure of Gollum to be there.

    They walked along the top of the old road, and Sam was glad for its relative flatness as well as the bright half-moon shining down on them. But after moonset, Sam found the going more difficult -- he stumbled over hillocks he couldn't see and once nearly tumbled down an unexpected gully that had washed out the road. His steps also began to falter with weariness, though he grimly kept up as best he could. Legolas stayed with him, quick to help, and Sam knew that Legolas could travel much faster alone.

    "I'm sorry," he panted after the last time Legolas' hand saved him from tumbling right off a drop. "I'm being a terrible burden."

    "No. We're keeping a decent pace, Sam. But you grow weary -- we should stop."

    "I can go a bit more," Sam declared stoutly and nearly missed Legolas' brief smile.

    "Then let us go."

    They walked another hour until the chill and weariness overcame Sam's determination. Legolas made camp at a rocky hill crowned with a single, wind-bent tree -- Sam glowered at the elf who seemed as fresh as if he had just woken from a long rest.

    Legolas glanced west. "I see horses in the distance, Sam. I wonder ..." he trailed off thoughtfully.

    "Are you going to try to catch one?" Sam asked, curious despite his urge to curl up and sleep.

    "No. But I will see if one will come. Get some sleep, Sam. I will watch."

    Sam rolled himself up in his blanket and cloak but decided he had to see what Legolas was going to do before he fell asleep.

    Legolas only whispered, but Sam heard him perfectly and could have sworn that his voice echoed. His gaze was fixed on the horses. "_Roch o Rohan, tolo enni, lasto beth lammen. Tolo enni, lasto beth lammen."_

    After several repetitions, Legolas stopped and waited, watching the west. Sam held his breath, not wanting to interrupt or distract his friend. Despite all the elves he had seen and visited, this was, he thought, the first elvish magic he had experienced. It sounded a lot like Gandalf's spells to open the door to Moria, he reflected, wondering what the connection was. 

But after several minutes had passed, Legolas turned away. He caught Sam's gaze and gave a rueful twist of his lips and a small shrug. "I have seen Elrond's sons call a horse to them. But the horses do not stir."

    It hadn't worked. Though he was disappointed, Sam shrugged. "You tried. We'll do okay on our own two legs."

    Sam closed his eyes and immediately fell asleep. He stirred once at the coming of light, but fell back to sleep, with his hood over his head.

    Legolas' voice, soft as a whisper, roused him. "Sam. Sam, wake up. But make no sudden movements."

    His voice was not alarmed, but Sam's eyes shot open.

    The first thing he saw was a great big horse's head, sniffing at his clothes. He jumped despite himself and the horse started away, snapping its head up in alarm.

    "Hush," Legolas appeared beside the horse and put a hand on its flank. "Be calm. Sam, this is Dúlhach. Say hello to her."

    Sam knew nothing about horses, but one look was enough to tell him that Dúlhach was nothing like the horses he had seen. She was pure glossy black from nose to tail without a spot of white or grey. She seemed huge to Sam, but also slender, with long legs and neck. Her black eyes seemed curious as she regarded him with her ears pricked forward.

    "Uh, hello," Sam said.

    Legolas stroked the horse's long mane absently. "I cannot imagine how the Dark Lord managed to miss her. His minions steal the all-black ones from Rohan, for the wraiths to ride."

    "I know," Sam shivered, remembering the riders in the Shire.

    "Yes, of course. Dúlhach is one of the _mearas_, the noblest breed of horses, kept by the kings of Rohan. She came at my call and has agreed to carry us across the Entwash."

    "'She agreed'? You mean you can talk to a horse? And she talks back to you?" Sam asked in amazement.

    "I ... " Legolas could not seem to find words to explain. "She understands what I say. I can ... sense her mind. Somewhat, at least." Dúlhach lowered her head to nuzzle at Legolas' hair.

    Sam stood up with a wary eye on the horse, who did not seem interested in trampling small hobbits. "I didn't know that elves could do that."

    "I never have before," Legolas admitted quietly. His gaze met Sam's, who understood. It was the ring. 

    "Well," Sam forced a smile, "I guess there's a benefit to it after all."

    Legolas ran a hand down Dúlhach's arched neck and did not reply. "We should ride."

    "Up there?" Sam looked dubiously up at the horse's high, bare back. "Aren't we supposed to have a saddle or something?"

    "A saddle is not necessary. My people often do not use them. Dúlhach promises to carry us smoothly."

    Sam's gaze caught the eye of the horse. Dúlhach whickered and dipped her head to nudge his shoulder. He cautiously reached out to pat her on the nose as he had with Bill, weeks ago.

    "You see? You are friends now," Legolas said, smiling faintly. "Come, get your things and I will lift you up. You can hold onto her mane."

    Shortly after, Legolas boosted Sam, pack and all, onto the horse's back. Sam clutched at the silky long strands of the horse's mane and tried to fix his gaze at the back of Dúlhach' head. It was a very long way down.

    He missed seeing how Legolas mounted, but shortly he was sitting behind Sam. "_Noro an harad, _Dúlhach_,_" he commanded and the horse moved.

    Sam tensed, his stomach rising into his throat. He was going to fall. He was going to fall and break his neck.

    Legolas' voice was amused behind him. "Relax, Sam. This is a walking pace."

    He tried valiantly to keep his voice from stuttering and failed miserably. "This riding is not a thing for hobbits!"

    The elf's hand took hold of his shoulder in a comforting grip. "I will not let you fall, Sam. But you will ride more easily if you relax."

    With Legolas' hand supporting him, Sam tried to relax, knowing he wouldn't fall. After a little while, when his body came to the same conclusion, he let out a long breath and untensed. He swayed more with her walk, as the muscles in her shoulders bunched under his feet, but the ride seemed smoother.

    "There! Now you have the idea," Legolas complimented him. "Now, let us try a little faster." He shifted his position forward, and put an arm around Sam to tuck him protectively against his chest. "Dúlhach, _noro lim_!"

    The mare seemed to leap forward, and Sam let out a screech of fright. He clutched at the handful of mane with one hand, and with the other clamped onto Legolas' arm. He closed his eyes and waited to be flung off to the ground and die.

    He had just started to get used to the new pace, when the horse shifted and seemed to gather herself, Legolas and Sam sliding a bit backwards. Then they were jumping and hit the other side with scarcely a thump. Sam's heart took an equal leap into his throat.

    "You are beautiful, Dúlhach!" Legolas crowed in delight, as the horse seemed to race along. "You and I should jump to the moon and run after the sun."

    "No, please, don't," Sam whispered. He could feel the wind on his face as if he were back in the boat going very fast down the river.

    Legolas' voice was very near his ear. "Open your eyes, Samwise. I imagine that rarely do your kind sit up so high or upon so glorious a steed. When you tell the story, would you rather not be able to describe what you saw?"

    He had a point, Sam realized, and so he pried his eyes open cautiously. At first he could only dare to look straight ahead, but then he realized that they were not going as fast as he had thought. It was still faster than he could walk, but not as quick as the boat in the river.

    The sun was bright, glinting off the Anduin to their left, and the fields around them were just beginning to green with spring. The sky above was a vast dome of deep blue, dotted with small white clouds. He had the feeling, perched up so high on the horse, that he could see for miles and miles in all directions. Except for occasional flights of birds, Sam saw no other sign of living creatures besides themselves.

    With no obvious command from Legolas, Dúlhach slowed and came to a stop where a stream tricked beneath an old stone bridge.

    "What is it?" Sam asked and turned to his companion curiously.

    "She thinks it would be a good idea for you to rest," Legolas explained.

    "But I'm fine," Sam objected. "I've just been sitting up here."

    Legolas slid off the horse to the ground, and held up his arms to help Sam down. "You have been doing more than you think, Sam. Besides, I think Dúlhach wants to eat," he teased. 

    The horse made a noise that sounded indignant to Sam and deliberately blew air at the elf, making Sam laugh. He let himself slide down, not doubting that Legolas would catch him, which he did.

    Once on his own two feet, Sam nearly fell. His legs felt wobbly, and he would have fallen without Legolas' quick grab of his cloak. "Careful, Sam. Walk around a little. I'm going to fill our water skins at the stream."

    After the break, they were off again. The day passed that way, mostly riding but with frequent stops for Sam to walk the stiffness out of his legs. Legolas called an early stop for camp and while Sam got everything ready, the elf rode Dúlhach off to the west to hunt for Sam again, claiming he had seen a herd of small grassland deer. Since Sam still had a bird and a half from yesterday, he suspected that the elf really wanted a chance to ride the horse at a gallop before they reached the Entwash.

    There was something beautiful about watching Legolas and Dúlhach race into the west, the sun shining off the elf's golden hair and the mare's black tail waving like a banner. They rode together so smoothly they almost seemed to be one creature.

    Sam smiled and shook his head in bemusement as he laid out his cooking supplies and fed the fire with some dry grass. Legolas' spirits had been lighter this past day than any day since the fellowship had entered Moria. It was as though the horse's presence somehow eased the burden of the ring.

    But something had changed when Legolas rode back. He slumped against Dúlhach's neck, hands clutching at her mane. The horse seemed to step carefully, so as not dislodge her rider. Sam's first thought was that he had been injured. "Legolas! What happened? Are you all right?"

    Legolas lifted his head wearily, and his eyes were dark with some turbulent emotion. "I am sorry, Sam," he murmured. "I had a deer for you. I shot it, I started to dress it and -- and I --" His head dropped, his eyes avoiding the hobbit's as he slid from the horse. She stood motionless, offering her bulk to support the stricken elf. His face hidden from Sam by the horse's withers, Legolas whispered, "I wanted all of it... O Elbereth, do I not endure enough?" he cried out suddenly. "Must this torment me as well?"

    He hugged Dúlhach's neck, burying his face in her mane. Sam noticed that Legolas' hair and shoulders were wet, as though he had dunked his head into the river.

    What could have happened? Sam wondered. He moved in front of the horse to stand beside Legolas and lightly touched the side of the elf's leg. "Legolas? Is there anything I can do for you?" he offered, not knowing what that could possibly be, except simply be with him.

    It took a moment, but Legolas raised his head, face now bleak. "No, Sam. No one can help me."

    With one last stroke of her flank, he let go of the mare and sat next to the fire. Sam ate another partridge from the day before, leaving half for tomorrow's breakfast, and put the bones in water with a little salt to make broth. While he did this, Legolas watched the flames in silence, his arms clasped around his drawn up knees. Dúlhach was a dark shadow at the edge of the firelight, standing behind Legolas.

    When Sam could stand the silence no longer, he asked tentatively. "Legolas, did you eat yet today?" 

    Legolas' short laugh had nothing of humor in it. "Oh yes. I couldn't stop myself at first. It was so good...." he whispered, eyes reflecting the fire like pools of molten gold. "Dúlhach pulled me free."

    Sam shook his head helplessly. "I don't understand."

    "I know. It will be all right, Sam." But the reassurance rang hollow and Sam was suddenly afraid. Whatever had happened, it seemed it was the ring's counterstroke to the peace Legolas had found earlier. Despair shrouded him now, thick and heavy.

    After a moment, he drew a long shuddering breath. "Sam, would you -- would you tell me a story?" he asked, quiet and yet somehow desperate.

    "What sort of story?" Sam asked. "I don't know any grand stories. Excepting Master Bilbo's anyway, with the dragon and all."

    "Smaug," Legolas said and shook his head once. "No, that reminds me of home. Something else, something light. All the songs in my heart are dark."

    "Well," Sam cast about for a good story to tell that might make Legolas smile. "There was Master Bilbo's birthday party, just before we left. Hobbits from all over the Shire, far and wide, were there. Pippin and Merry got into Gandalf's fireworks..."

    As he told the story of the party, the terror of the Sackville-Bagginses, the cake that caught fire, and the famous farewell speech of Bilbo's that nobody understood (leaving out the part with Bilbo using the ring to disappear), Legolas listened. He didn't smile or shift his position, but Sam knew he was paying attention. 

    When Sam sputtered to a stop, unable to think of anything more, Legolas lifted his head. "Thank you," he murmured. He looked better, but the shadows were still thick in his eyes.

    "Legolas, what happened?" Sam asked.

    Legolas rubbed his injured hand slowly, massaging each bone. "I was reminded that I cannot forget the burden I carry, or it grows stronger," he answered, which was not exactly an explanation, but Sam figured that was as much as he was going to get. "You should sleep. Tomorrow, we cross the Entwash."

    "Are you going to sleep?"

    "Perhaps," Legolas answered, which more likely meant no. Elves slept strangely anyway, Sam had discovered. Aragorn had said that elves slept like mortals only when close to death, otherwise they rested in a sort of waking dream, living in memories that to them were as clear as the present. Because they retained awareness of their surroundings even while 'sleeping', it was difficult to sneak up on an elf.

    "You need to rest. Dúlhach can guard us tonight." The mare agreed with Sam, stretching her head forward to nudge Legolas' shoulder with her nose.

    Legolas didn't answer. He had returned to staring at the fire, and he seemed so distant it was as if he were just an echo of someone who used to be there. 

    Sam poured the broth from the pan into an empty water skin and closed it. He washed the pan in the stream and tidied his things. One thing he had learned on this journey was to make sure that his pack was ready to go at any moment in case they had to run. He spread out his cloak and blanket, preparing to sleep. Legolas had still not said another word.

    "Goodnight," Sam said then added quietly, using the elvish he had first learned on the journey, "_mellon_."

    Legolas twitched and came back from wherever his mind had taken him. He glanced at Sam. "Sleep well, _mellon nín_."

    Sam rolled up in his blanket. His last sight before he closed his eyes was of Legolas, the elf's head tilted back to watch the night sky.

    The next day was overcast and grey, with a cold breeze from the north that made Sam pull his cloak tightly around him. At least he could huddle against the horse for warmth.

    The bleak despair had lifted from Legolas, but still the gloomy weather kept them both quiet and thoughtful. It didn't help that the Entwash was a forbidding looking place -- endless fields of green reeds, shallow water, mud, and some occasional stands of odd gnarled trees on the land between the broad streams. It also smelled strange -- not as noxious as a swamp, but still slightly nauseating. Sam was heartily glad they didn't have to walk through it.

    The ancient Gondorians had run the great northern road straight through the Entwash, building six leagues of stone causeway above the muck. Although decayed, covered in draping moss and slime, and broken by the occasional tree growing through the stones, it had not yet crumbled away. Dúlhach only had to leave the road twice where it became impassable, and she walked through water up to her knees without complaint.

    As they went deeper into it, a low ground mist thickened into a fog. Though Sam could see well enough for fifty paces or so all around them, beyond that, shapes were indeterminate shadows that faded away to nothing.

    In the middle of what Sam guessed was afternoon, when the fog was thickening and the chill was seeping into his bones despite the horse and Legolas' warmth, Sam tried to break the silence, just to hear something besides the steady but moss-muffled clops of the horse's hooves. "Legolas, do you --"

    "Sam, hush," Legolas whispered. "Sound carries far in the fog. There are men ahead of us."

    "What?" Sam demanded, hissing loudly, half turning around to glare at his friend. "Why didn't you say something?"

    "I have been listening to them. It is a camp, or perhaps a village. I hear women as well. Though no children."

    "Here?" Sam glanced around at the mist-shrouded gloom in utter disbelief. "In the middle of the Entwash?"

    "Fishers perhaps."

    "Oh." Sam thought about that. Well, as he'd discovered on this journey, there were all kinds of folk, and most were quite strange. But as long as they weren't evil, it didn't bother him anymore. "Maybe we could trade with them a bit. Get some dried fish, maybe some travel bread, like that cram the Men made at Long-lake in Master Bilbo's stories -- then you wouldn't have to hunt for me."

    "I ..." Legolas was tempted, Sam heard it in his voice, but he refused. "No, we cannot. An elf and a hobbit would be remembered, and the Dark Lord has servants everywhere."

    "We could go in disguise. Or at least you could," Sam suggested. "We could give you a hat..." he began and trailed off, realizing how ridiculous it was. There was no way that Legolas with his long fair hair, delicate features, and slender height could pass for anything but an elf. Hiding his elvish ears would make little difference.

    Dúlhach made an impolite noise blowing air between her lips, and Sam blushed. It had to be a bad plan if even the horse thought so.

    "I have attempted such things in the past," Legolas said, not as rudely dismissive. His voice held a touch of amused remembrance. "It only succeeded once, when I was wearing human clothes and covered in mud. And Aragorn was there to take most of the attention. No, I think it is best if we avoid them."

    "We need a boat," Sam reminded him. "Maybe they have one. We could, uh, borrow it." He was uncomfortable with the suggestion that they steal it, but tried to weakly justify it to himself that it was for the good of everyone, even ignorant fisher-folk. If the ring didn't cross the Anduin, Middle-Earth would fall to Sauron.

    "Yes..." Legolas agreed thoughtfully. "This is so." It took him only a moment to decide. He straightened. "I will scout. You must remain on Dúlhach, Sam. If I need you, I will give a signal of a grey owl twice. Otherwise, remain here."

    The elf dismounted, gave the mare a pat, and started away. His cloak swirled at his heels and for an instant, it seemed to Sam that the elf's disembodied head was floating in the mist. In another step he vanished altogether.

    "I hope he can find his way back," Sam murmured and stroked the horse's neck, more for his own soothing than hers.

    Sam waited, his cloak doing little against the chill and damp, and hoped that Legolas returned quickly.

  


* * *

_Pendrath Forn_ = the North Stair.   
_Roch o Rohan, tolo enni, lasto beth lammen._ = 'Horse of Rohan, come to me, hear the words of my tongue.'  
_Noro lim!_ = 'Ride fast!'  
_Mellon nín_ = 'my friend'   
Continued in Chapter 2: Into the Entwash. 

Comments welcome at lizardbeths_tale@yahoo.com 


	2. Into the Entwash

WINDOW OF THE SUNSET, Ch. 2, by Lizardbeth Johnson 

_Disclaimer: Based on 'The Lord of the Rings', by JRR Tolkien. This is a non-commercial work. No infringement of copyright is intended._

"Window of the Sunset" is the fourth in the _Broken Fellowship Series_. It is ** strongly** recommended that you read the previous stories first.  


* * *

  
****

The Broken Fellowship, Book IV:

_Window of the Sunset_

_Chapter 2: Into the Entwash_

by Lizardbeth Johnson

  


    Legolas moved swiftly through the mist-shrouded, damp paths of the Entwash, heading unerringly for the village he could hear not far up ahead. The fog treated the sound oddly, so that to his ears it seemed sometimes distant and muffled, and sometimes clear, but he knew it was close. He walked with little fear of being discovered, knowing that even if the villagers had sentries posted, he would have to pass within arm's length for them to see him at all. His footsteps through the shallow water, splashed very little and what sound they made was likewise muffled.

    Yet as the ground rose slightly so that it was drier, he moved with greater caution, using the moss-draped trees as cover. He found his surroundings unpleasantly similar to his scouting trips of southern Mirkwood, where the bare trees were also draped with hanging moss and creeping vines. There was less feeling of evil, but the similarity made him uneasy.

    He smelled wood-smoke and the stench of spoiled fish. The mist seemed to turn grey and thick and somewhat oily as he drew nearer, and he knew his clothes would stink of it for days. The unpleasantness made him wonder. This was, as Sam had suggested, not a cheerful place for anyone to live. In these latter days of the Age, there was plenty of empty land for people to claim. So why would anyone purposefully choose a swamp?

    Just as he began to see hints of torch-light ahead, the tree cover abruptly ended. He lingered beside to the last tree, trying to get a good view of the village through the billowing white mist. A group of primitive wooden huts stood in a loose circle around a central area, in which the dim figures of the inhabitants moved through like shadows. About fifteen paces of empty ground stood between him and the nearest hut, which was lit with two large upright torches. A large earthen mound sat in the center surrounded by crates and cut wood. He was fairly certain it was a large smokehouse, presumably for fish. But the house was far larger than it should be considering the size of the village.

    He was suddenly extremely glad that he had rejected Sam's idea to trade with these people. He had the cold suspicion that this was an operation to provide foodstuffs for Mordor, else why hide the village in this place? All these people had to do was cart the supplies across the river. No one from Gondor or Rohan would ever look deep into the Entwash.

    That meant he would have to be very careful here. Evil attracted evil, and Men were susceptible to the ring's desire.

    Because he was unwilling to cross that open ground even in his cloak with the cover of mist, he began to sidle eastward, toward the Anduin to look for the village's boats, using the trees as much as possible.

    The ground was soggy, and when he stepped he left shallow prints that filled with water. He was unaccustomed to leaving such a visible trail and it made him nervous. Anyone would be able to see it. He began to use some of the exposed roots of the trees as stepping-stones.

    But soon the trees thinned and the water grew deeper as he came nearer to the river and he was forced to walk in the water, wetting his boots nearly to the tops.

    A sudden shout ahead of him made him freeze and press against the nearest tree trunk. Someone was trying to get to the village from the shore but was lost. Someone else called back, and Legolas heard the lost man pass in front of him, heading hesitantly toward the village.

    He waited, tempted to smirk scornfully at people who couldn't even find their way fifty paces, fog or no fog.

    He continued moving forward cautiously, and finally found his reward by nearly stumbling onto a rope tied to a tree. Following the rope to the other end, he found a boat. It was a primitive craft, little more than a large raft, capable of holding a few people and some boxes. It was propelled by means of poles to cross the broad, shallow expanse of the river. Looking at it, Legolas was doubtful whether he and Sam alone could manage to control it in the central current.

    Ducking under the rope, he continued on, looking for a smaller boat. There was a second raft.

    And then... miraculously, a graceful curved shape emerged out of the mist.

    He walked forward, gazing at it reverently and finally drawing close enough to touch the prow. It was the boat from Lothlórien -- the one he had released at Amon Hen. It had returned to him.

    He could take the boat now. The paddles were in the bottom, waiting for him. He could cross the river now and make his way. Sam could stay with Dúlhach and go to Rohan or Gondor, somewhere far safer than this road.

    He could make better time journeying alone. Faster to Ithilien, faster to Minas Morgul, faster to Orodruin...

    He had reached for his knife to cut the rope and go, when he realized there was a new and different stench assailing his senses. He froze, wondering what it was, and his eyes darted around searching for the source.

    An oddly familiar foulness underlay the fishy, smoky smell. 

    First, soft splashing noises of someone approaching from the south and then a hissing voice touched his ears. "Tricksy elvesses. We hates them. They stole it from us, kept us prisoner, hurts us..."

    Gollum.

    Did Gollum actually know he was there, or was he just generally muttering about the unfairness of an elf holding the ring? If the latter, Legolas should be able to hide.

    Legolas shifted his grip on his knife slightly, his gaze fixed on where Gollum should appear through the whiteness.

    Gollum's tone changed slightly, became softer and yet more chilling. "Yess, precious, nassty elvesses... Bright elves took the precious from us... It belongs to us."

    Gollum knew he was there. Fingering his knife's blade, and equally softly, Legolas whispered back, "It belongs to me, Gollum. It will never be yours again."

    The white fog roiled and Gollum emerged, creeping around a tree about ten paces away. Large eyes fixed on Legolas unblinking, as the creature squatted on the ground as pale as a worm under a stone.

    Ragged teeth showed in a snarl. "Give it to us. You hurts the precious."

    "No." His free hand rose to cover the ring that lay beneath his tunic. It felt warm against his chest.

    He glanced uneasily in the direction of the village, wondering when someone was going to hear them.

    Gollum crept a pace or two closer, and Legolas lifted his knife in threat. "Stop. You can not win. Do not force me to kill you, Sméagol ."

    He felt the urge to kill welling up inside him like a strong, cold wind. Gollum wanted the ring. Gollum would try to steal the ring. But the ring did not want Gollum as its bearer. The ring wanted Gollum dead.

    Legolas stepped back a pace and his left hand pulsed with pain.

    Gollum hesitated and his head came up as though listening to something. But Legolas heard nothing.

    "Sméagol ..." Gollum muttered, in seeming wonder. "Sméagol ."

    There was something different about Gollum suddenly, as though the speaking of his name recalled the Sméagol that once had been, before the ring.

    Legolas wondered if he could possibly take advantage of that momentary easing of the ring's grip. He spoke softly, "I know that was your name once. You were Sméagol. You were one of the small people who lived in Anduin Vale in the days before the Éothéod rode south. I remember." Sméagol 's attention was fixed on him, and it seemed even the noxious sense had abated. "They were a quiet, peaceful folk who fished the river. They did no harm to anyone. They traded with my people and the horse-riders. But they moved away to the west when the darkness of Dol Guldur tainted the valley, and wolves and orcs came out of the Misty Mountains. Do you remember living by the river, Sméagol?"

    Gollum glanced away for a moment, and when he looked back, his eyes seemed sad. He admitted in a barely audible voice, "Yes." But the moment passed, when he twitched and the avaricious gleam returned. "None of its business, is it, precious?" he hissed. "Trying to tricks us, it is. Make it our _friend_," Gollum sneered. "But we have a secret, precious, oh yes we do. We know bright elves are thieves. Filthy, dirty, tricksy _thieves_."

    The final word was said loudly and Legolas glanced toward the settlement in alarm. He heard a few people stir.

    Gollum's large eyes were lit by malice. "What's the thief going to do, precious?" he asked in a low taunting voice. "Is it going to run away?"

    Legolas didn't move, his hand didn't even shift its grip, but he knew suddenly with chill certainty that Gollum would die beneath his knife blade. Perhaps not at that moment, but someday soon. Foresight of the elves told him that Gollum's doom was already in his hand.

    Gollum grinned slyly. "Tricksy elf wants boat. Wants to sail away. But no, precious, we can't lets him."

    He tilted his head back and called in a gravelly but surprisingly loud voice, "Thief! Here! THIEF!"

    The village came awake, and Legolas heard men milling in confusion, and shouting. Some were starting in this direction.

    Contrary impulses tugged at him -- sharp, biting rage pushed him toward Gollum, seeking the creature's death; while fear urged him to cut the rope and escape in the boat; but his head wouldn't let him pursue either course. Both would take time he couldn't spare now that he had been found out.

    His hand darted out and his knife sliced the rope that tied the boat. Though the water moved sluggishly, the craft was light and empty, and it had no desire to stay in this evil place. Silently, it slid off into the fog and disappeared.

    Legolas looked back one final time at Gollum. It was a hard glance, and the blade of his knife glimmered palely blue with the strength of his anger. Gollum flinched back, covering his eyes.

    Legolas' whisper floated like the fog itself, insidious and everywhere. "In the end, we will have a reckoning, little one. You will lose."

    He turned and started back the way he had come, along the river for a little ways on the wooden paths and docks. He left no track on the wood and could move swiftly. The mist still cloaked the area, but seemed to have thinned so that he could see the dim shapes of the houses and dark figures moving within it, toward him. He was confident that the pale tones of his clothes would help hide him from their sight, and once he reached the trees, it would be nearly impossible for them to see him.

    Though he kept listening cautiously for sounds of the blundering humans, not one of the villagers spotted him on his way back. He was, perhaps, ten paces away when he heard Dúlhach whinny in alarm and Samwise shouted Legolas' name.

    "Hold, thief! Stop!" one man shouted. "Or we'll shoot!"

    Alarmed, Legolas crept closer, listening as four voices talked about what to do with the beautiful horse and the odd little thief riding her.

    Sam said nothing more.

    Legolas rounded the last tree at the side of the road and saw four men surrounding Dúlhach -- two with bows pointing at Sam, and the other two with axes raised threateningly. Dúlhach stood still, twitching with the desire to rear and flee, but knowing if she did so, Sam would fly from her back.

    Legolas unlimbered his bow from his back and touched the string in dismay. The tension was too loose. Despite his wax, the moisture had gotten to it. He needed to restring, but that would take too long. He put the bow back silently, removing both daggers and, at the same moment in opposite directions, threw them.

    With lethal accuracy, the daggers plunged into the throats of both the archers, and they fell, choking on their blood.

    Legolas followed after the knives immediately, drawing his sword. One of the remaining men was a bit quicker to notice what had happened to his companions, and turned to find the new threat.

    He was a rough-looking man, with long, wet dark hair and untrimmed beard. His narrow eyes flared with surprise on seeing an elf then gleamed with pleasure. "Always wanted to test your kind, elf."

    He swung his fighting axe, and Legolas swayed out of the path of the crescent-shaped blade. The man was strong and skilled with his weapon, but he was no dwarf or _uruk-hai_. His only advantage was in his reach, but it was not sufficient for victory. Legolas did not attack, only defend, letting the human wear himself out.

    "You will not fight?" the human demanded, seeking to disembowel Legolas.

    "You said you wanted a test," Legolas replied, blocking the axe haft with the blade of his sword. "So I am giving you one."

    Vaguely he was aware of the fourth man, trying to sneak behind him, from Dúlhach's other side. Foolishly believing that the motionless horse would remain motionless, he passed too closely behind her hindquarters. Dúlhach kicked backward, striking the fourth man a solid blow to the chest with her hooves. He collapsed like a felled tree, unable to even gasp for breath.

    Sam gave a panicked shout as the mare tipped forward. The sound pricked at the elf's awareness, and he realized that the noise of the battle would attract others. Legolas had no more time to play with his opponent. He and Sam still had to escape.

     Changing the tempo of the fight abruptly, he darted in, taking advantage of the man's tiring and lack of control on his back swing. The human was wide open in that moment, and Legolas' blade moved as a silver blur to sever his head at his neck.

    Breathing only slightly heavily, he turned. "Samwise, are you well?"

    Sam was clutching Dúlhach's mane as if he would never let go, and his eyes were wide and terrified, but he looked unharmed. He nodded, seeming pale.

    Legolas patted Dúlhach's flank as he passed to fetch his first knife. He cleaned it on the corpse's clothes and put it away. He moved to kneel at the other attacker's side and plucked his second knife free.

    He was starting to clean it, when Sam stuttered in alarm and warning, "Legolas, watch out!"

    Legolas jumped to his feet and turned, knife in hand to face the new threat -- but his movement only provided a bigger target. A knife struck him, thrown by the one Dúlhach had kicked. It slammed with surprising force in his abdomen, just below his ribs. He staggered back a pace, his hand going automatically to the hilt.

    The feeling of it was slender twin blades of fire and ice, twisting in his middle. Breathing suddenly became something he had to do with conscious effort. _That afterborn dog hurt me_, the angry thought bubbled to the surface, _He must die._

    But before he could move, Dúlhach kicked backward with one leg and planted a hoof squarely in the attacker's face. Bone crunched, and the man slumped to the ground, dead.

    "Legolas!" 

    Legolas looked up to meet Sam's gaze, saw that Sam was pointing, and swung sharply to see what he was pointing at, when he heard a large group of men approaching from the village. They would arrive soon. Wounded, he could not defeat them all. His time had run out. 

    Without stopping to consider what it might cost him, he vaulted up one-handed behind Sam.

    He landed with graceless force, jarring the knife. Pain welled up through him, paralyzingly intense. "Oh, Valar," he whispered, closing his eyes and trying to fight the darkness that threatened.

    Sam twisted around, "We should bind --"

    "We must ride," Legolas told him harshly. "More humans come. Dúlhach, _noro lim_, _noro sui sûl_!"

    Dúlhach launched herself into a run down the road.

    Every slam of hooves on the stone sent a frisson of pain through him. Legolas kept one hand on the knife, trying to keep it still and slow the bleeding, but it helped very little, especially when Dúlhach jumped. His tunics and hand soon were both wet with warm blood.

DD>But when Dúlhach slowed too soon, he forced himself to order her to continue. They had to pass through the Entwash, and find clearer, greener land. Forest would be preferable, but he knew he could never heal in that tainted swamp. 

    He felt dizzy as the ride continued, and had to clutch onto Sam with his other hand to keep from falling.

    His whole body suddenly felt insubstantial. Had he turned into mist? His mind seemed free of its confines, rising toward the heavens and seeking the end of the fog. But he couldn't find it, just ever more gray nothingness... He was fading.

    He reached out for help, for strength -- anything to find a path back to the light. _Elbereth, please, save me..._

    But it was not Elbereth's power he touched. Fire suddenly rose up around him, warming the chill that seeped into his bones, but the flames did not burn. Within the fire, a deep voice whispered, striking like an adder, **_You are dying, Prince of the Firstborn_**. **_Only the power of the ring will save you._**

    The ring. Sauron.

    **_Put on the ring and submit to its will. Only then will you live._**

    No. No. He couldn't...

**__**

    It is fated, Son of the Forest, the Ring whispered. **_You and Sauron were always meant to be one. Your birth came the same year his spirit settled in the great wood, seeking its vessel. _**

    No. That was a lie. He was edhel, and would not serve Sauron, captain of Morgoth, foe of life.

    **_You will not serve. You will rule,_** the insidious whisper echoed in his mind. It was inescapable, no matter how Legolas tried not to listen. **_All of Middle-Earth will kneel at your feet._**

    An image formed within the flames: He saw himself standing on the ramparts of a high, dark wall, shining with a radiance that lit a vast field of kneeling figures, rank on rank of armored men and orcs, dwarves and elves. Nine figures cloaked in black stood arrayed behind him, their shadow deeper by comparison with his brilliance. He was wearing white, with silver armor, and the sapphirine eyes glowed with the light of the Ainur.

    That could be him. For just one moment, he wanted to possess that power and beauty with everything in his soul. If he just reached out, he could become...

    **_Put on the ring and submit, Firstborn. Accept your fate._**

    "No!" He jerked violently and came out of his daze, eyes opening to see Sam twisted around to face him. The hobbit's kindly face was afraid, and he had one small hand wrapped around Legolas' trying to keep him from closing his fingers on the ring.

    Legolas blinked and tried to speak. His voice was weak, for he seemed to have little breath. "Sam?" He dropped his hand, realizing what he had been about to do.

    "Legolas? Are you with me?"

    Legolas nodded a tiny bit, feeling oddly better. The pain had diminished and now he merely felt cold, as if his blood had turned to ice. 

    "We've stopped," Sam explained unnecessarily. He spoke slowly and patiently, as if to someone half-witted. Legolas decided absently that he must truly look terrible, for Sam to be so concerned. "We need to get down. Do you think you can do that?"

    Looking around, Legolas realized they had cleared the main Entwash. Dúlhach had left the road and brought them to the lee-side of a rocky ridge. There were no trees, but the grass was high and bright green in the afternoon sunlight. The ground seemed very far below, and he suddenly understood more of Sam's fears.

    Dúlhach very slowly and carefully folded herself to the ground so her riders could dismount without falling. Sam scrambled off, dumping his pack, and turned to unbuckle Legolas' weapons harness and ease it off. Legolas wanted to help him, but could find neither the will nor the strength.

    Sam balanced him so he could move, despite his shivering, and let him roll onto his back on his cloak.

    "Oh no," the little hobbit's paled in dismay seeing the blood-stained tunic and knife. "What do I do, Legolas?" he asked, a desperate quality to his voice. "What should I do?"

    It was an effort to focus, but Legolas did, looking up at Sam. "Take the ring, Sam," he whispered. "And go."

    He could no longer hold the darkness at bay, and it smothered him in its deep, velvety embrace.

  


* * *

_noro sui sûl_ = 'Ride like the wind!' Continued in Chapter 3: Master and Servant 


	3. Servant and Master

_Disclaimer: Based on 'The Lord of the Rings', by JRR Tolkien. This is a non-commercial work. No infringement of copyright is intended._

"Window of the Sunset" is the fourth in the _Broken Fellowship Series_. It is ** strongly** recommended that you read the previous stories first.  


* * *

  
****

The Broken Fellowship, Book IV:

_Window of the Sunset_

_Chapter 3: Master and Servant_

by Lizardbeth Johnson

  


    "Legolas, no!" 

    Sam stared in dismay as the elf's eyes drifted closed and he did not stir. Tentatively Sam held his shaking fingers to Legolas' throat, fearing the worst. But no, he was still alive.

    But he wouldn't be for long if Sam didn't stop the bleeding. The lower half of his leather tunic was stained around the knife hilt still protruding from his stomach, and his silver-grey undertunic was sodden. Elf blood looked the same as human, and he figured losing a quantity of it was just as lethal to even an immortal elf.

    It never occurred to Sam to do as he had been ordered. He could not take the ring and walk away, leaving his friend to die. He knew that Legolas had meant it. During the elf's moment of delirium, Sam had seen Legolas' eyes glowing that same eerie dark blue as when he had been wearing the ring. It suggested the ring's influence had grown. But he also felt that the ring had struck in the elf's weakened state, but that it did not truly have a hold on him.

    He took a roll of soft elvish linen from his pack to use as bandages. He pulled the knife out and pushed the tunics out of the way. Blood welled from the deep cut, and Sam pressed his last folded handkerchief to the wound and then bound it snugly with the linen, around Legolas' waist.

    He wished desperately for Aragorn. Strider would know what to do -- he could suggest some medicinal herb or other elvish remedy that would help his elf-friend heal. But, aside from binding it so Legolas didn't bleed to death, Sam didn't know what else to do.

    A sudden nudge on his shoulder stirred him back to awareness of what was going on beyond himself and Legolas. The sun had fallen low on the horizon, lighting the high clouds in the sky in dramatic colors of fire.

    "Hello, Dúlhach," Sam wearily raised a hand to pat her nose. She let him and then nudged him again, more deliberately grabbing his cloak with her teeth and tugging. "What is it? What do you want?" he asked, wishing that he could read the horse's thoughts.

    She stamped a hoof in frustration, then bent her head to grab the bottom edge of his cloak and carry it between her teeth to lay on Legolas' arm.

    "Oh! I see!" he immediately opened the leaf clasp and draped his cloak over as much of the elf as it would cover. Sam immediately felt a chill breeze, but it wasn't too bad. He rubbed his arms and glanced thoughtfully up at Dúlhach. "Do you think we were followed?"

    She shook her head once, black mane flopping to the other side of her neck. 

    "Well, that's something. Would you watch him, while I go collect something for a fire? I don't see any trees, but it looks like there's some bushes down the way."

    She planted her hooves squarely at Legolas' side and made it plain that she was going nowhere. Her ears swiveled, listening in every direction, for danger.

    Sam gathered deadwood off the bushes and last year's bracken at the base of the ridge for as long as the sunlight lasted then built a small fire against the stone wall behind camp. In all that time, Legolas did not stir.

    Wrapping his arms around his knees, Sam gazed into the fire, comforted by the sound of Dúlhach chomping at the grass. At least she was able to eat freely here, at the southeastern end of the plains of Rohan. Eventually Dúlhach stopped eating and was still, and Sam thought she had probably gone to sleep.

    But he did not. He stayed awake, waiting for any sound from his wounded friend and wondering how it had all gone so wrong.

    He remembered what Gandalf had told Frodo, that there was other power in the world other than the will of evil. But it seemed to him that lately Legolas had seen precious little of that.

    Glancing up at the stars the elves held so dear, he sought Eärendil. Though he spoke no words aloud, he asked the great elf-lord of the sagas not to let Legolas die.

    And not to leave him to finish a quest to Mordor alone.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    The next day passed slowly. Legolas did not wake, but the bleeding stopped and Sam did not believe he had changed for the worse either. His skin was still cool to the touch, so it seemed he escaped fever.

    While Dúlhach continued to stand guard, Sam collected more wood and went to fill their water skins in a stream. He found some spring dandelions and ate the leaves, curling his nose at the bitter taste. 

    By the end of the day, Sam had found Legolas' remaining _lembas_, but despite his growling stomach, Sam put them back in the elf's pouch. If Legolas were truly dying, Sam would eat them, but to do so now might condemn Legolas to death in Mordor if he survived. So Sam tried to ignore his own hunger as much as he could, and thought longingly of the Green Dragon Inn as he drank his broth. 

    His patience was rewarded when Legolas opened his eyes shortly after sunset.

    Sam took his hand and pressed it. "Master Legolas, I'm so glad you're awake!"

    Legolas' lips quirked in a soft, weak smile in response. "Water?" he whispered.

    "Oh, of course. Forgive me." Sam helped him drink with an arm behind his shoulders so he wouldn't have to use his stomach muscles to lift his head. Legolas sipped at the water.

    "That is enough," he said. Truly, he did seem stronger, Sam thought. The color had come back into his face -- though maybe that was the last colors of the sunset -- but his eyes seemed alert and intensely deep. When Dúlhach lowered her head to touch his cheek with her nose affectionately, he raised his injured hand to pat her neck. "_Mae govannen, _Dúlhach."

    "Here, while you're awake," Sam broke off a piece of _lembas _bread and offered to Legolas. "You should eat."

    Legolas fell back to sleep before he had finished the food, but this time it seemed a more natural, healing rest. His long lashes veiled his eyes, but Sam could see the sliver of blue shining beneath them as Legolas sought the sleep of the elves.

    Now sure that Legolas wasn't going to die any second, Sam felt more comfortable sleeping, with Dúlhach guarding them.

    He awoke before dawn, out of dreams that the fellowship was climbing Caradhras again.

    He discovered he had been dreaming of snow, because he was cold. He had curled up beneath his blanket, but that was not enough warmth against the newly arrived frigid wind, blowing in from the northeast.

    Though early spring had followed them down the Anduin, now it seemed winter had reasserted its grip.

    The fire had died to embers, and so Sam carefully built it up again to a small but cheerfully warm blaze, and he huddled against the rock trying to keep out of the wind.

    "Samwise?" Legolas' voice came out of the darkness, startling the hobbit, who had been certain that his injured friend was sleeping.

    "You're supposed to be asleep!" Sam accused, but Legolas ignored him.

    "You should take your cloak back."

    Although the offer was tempting, no Gamgee would take a cloak from a person recovering from a nearly lethal injury. Sam shook his head.

    "I do not need it, Sam," Legolas added.

    Sam peered at the elf's face by the fire's dim glow, wondering if Legolas were being sacrificial and noble, or if he was telling the truth.

    "You're hurt," Sam protested. "You have to stay warm."

    There was soft amusement in the elf's voice. "Elves are very resistant to cold. Remember Caradhras? I did not feel the cold, except as a chill breeze."

    "But now you're injured."

    Legolas gathered up a handful of Sam's elvish cloak where it lay across his chest and held it out. "Take it. I can hear you shivering."

    Reluctantly, Sam took it and fastened it back into place around his shoulders. The warmth was welcome, but he kept a close eye on Legolas to check that he was all right, in the cold wind that found its way around the ridge to their little hollow. But Legolas did not react to the sudden loss of the cloak, and Sam hoped that meant he was truly unaffected.

    "Thank you," Sam murmured.

    Legolas murmured, in a distant voice, "They're out there. I feel them." 

    "Who's out there?" Sam asked, nervously peering into the dark around them.

    Legolas answered, "All of them. Looking for me. He knows." His good hand crept past the edge of his cloak beneath him, and he clutched a handful of grass tightly, as though it was keeping him from falling. He repeated in a whisper, barely audible to Sam's ears. "He knows."

    "Who? Sauron?" Sam asked, but there was no answer. Alarmed, he bent close to Legolas, to see that the elf was sleeping again.

    Deciding that Legolas wouldn't have fallen asleep if the evil he had felt was very close, Sam went back to his blankets to get some rest himself.

    Dawn was dimmed by the low, heavy clouds that spread across the sky, though the wind had lessened in strength, so it was gloomy but not as frigid. Sam performed his now usual morning chores of collecting wood for the fire and finding some greens for himself to eat for breakfast.

    When he returned to camp, it was to see Legolas sitting up against the rock wall of their shelter. "Hey!" he rushed forward. "I'm glad to see you up, but are you sure that's wise? It's not even been two whole days. Shouldn't you still be lying down?"

    Legolas glanced at him and lifted a hand in greeting. "I am improving, Sam. My kindred heal quickly. Even if I did not, we have no time for a leisurely recovery. Tomorrow we must begin to look for a way to cross the river. I fear being in one place too long."

    Sam dumped his load of branches and knelt beside the elf. "Well, you look better," he announced, examining the elf's fair features. "Have you eaten?"

    At Legolas' shake of his head, Sam produced the elf's pouch of _lembas_ and handed him a piece.

    "And you?" Legolas asked pointedly, as he slowly munched his bread. "What have you been eating?"

    "Oh, the last of the partridge and other things, here and there that I could find," Sam shrugged.

    The old elvish eyes read him deeply. "Then you should eat some of that as well," he nodded toward the leaf-wrapped bread in Sam's hand. "At least until I can hunt for you again."

    "But --"

    "Go on, eat," Legolas said and let out a small sigh when Sam still refused. "I know you want to protect me, and I am grateful, but it must not be at your expense. Not when I am far more capable of withstanding hunger and cold than you."

    Sam nodded and broke off a small piece of _lembas_ -- about half the size of the piece he had given Legolas. It tasted sweet and surprisingly, when he finished, he no longer felt hungry. "Not bad," he nodded. Legolas gave a flicker of smile in response and finished the rest of his.

    That afternoon, Sam helped Legolas change his grey tunic to his spare, with the elf unable to suppress his winces in pain as the motion pulled at the wound. But after he was wearing his clean shirt, he smiled in relief. "It is pleasant not to wear one's own blood."

    Realizing that he had never seen the elf wearing anything but clean clothing, despite the fellowship's travels and battle, Sam went to the stream to see if he could get some of the blood out of the tunic. To his surprise, the blood left no stain, washing out completely. Elvish magic, he decided, was the only possible explanation.

    When he returned to camp, Sam saw that Legolas had his leather outertunic across his lap, with needle and thread in hand, repairing the knife slash. "Will the blood come out of that too, if I wash it?" Sam asked, laying the tunic on a rock to dry.

    Legolas shook his head. "Probably not all. Deer hide absorbs blood, unfortunately. But I would welcome the attempt." He bit off the thread after he knotted it, and held up the tunic for Sam to see. The gash had been sewn up with such small stitches Sam could barely see where the cut had been. 

    Sam took it and went back to the stream, scrubbing at the dark green leather with sand from the bank. As he worked, he paused, with the sudden feeling that he was being watched. He glanced around him and over his shoulder, and when he saw nothing, eased a finger's width of Sting free of the scabbard to check for orcs. The sword was not glowing.

    He pulled the tunic out of the water and rushed back to camp to make sure that Legolas was all right.    

    The elf was seated exactly where he had been, holding up his unstrung bow and inspecting it for flaws in the flat grey light. All seemed well. Legolas glanced up curiously. "Samwise? Is everything all right?"

    Feeling suddenly foolish, with his handful of wet tunic, Sam stammered out, "I -- I had this feeling I was being watched. I thought something might be wrong."

    Legolas looked in the direction Sam had just come and lifted his head slightly, as though sniffing the air. He put down the bow and his hand fell on the knife in his weapons harness, which was sitting on the ground beside him. "Gollum," he murmured and did not sound surprised.

    "He's close?" Sam asked, moving nearer to Legolas, hand on Sting's hilt. Legolas nodded once.

    "I saw him at the village," he offered unexpectedly. "He raised the alarm at my presence. He has caught up to us again."

    "I wish he'd stop following us!" Sam exclaimed in frustration "Always lurking out there -- " 

    "He will never stop following me, Sam," Legolas said, in a voice soft and resigned. "He cannot, for he desires what I possess."

    "We have to stop him, or he'll keep giving us away. We'll never get to Mordor if he's always on our heels." 

    To Sam's puzzlement, he watched as Legolas stroked one finger lightly along the curving hilt of his knife. "Yes," he agreed after a long silence. "Though I would wish otherwise, I think it is time." He glanced up at Sam, with dark resolution in his eyes. "I know what to do."

*~*~*~*~*~*

    The evening was just turning to night when the two laid their trap. Dark clouds raced across the shining low half-moon in the eastern sky, so that silvery brightness and shadows moved and entwined like living things along the ground. The fire was banked, and Dúlhach had moved out of sight of the camp.

    Sam pretended that he was sleeping, as Legolas did the same next to him. Though Sam's eyes were slitted open to watch, Legolas' looked closed. But Sam knew all his attention was fixed on the stone ridge face above them.

    The wind played around the rocks, stirring twigs and leaves, and yet there was a soft scraping sound, which did not match the wind. It was Gollum, padding ever closer to the two companions.

    Sam nearly smiled, wondering how Gollum possibly thought he could sneak up on an elf. Besides the fact that Legolas could hear and see better, he could also sense the taint of the ring on Gollum.

    But no one could know looking at Legolas that he was awake.

    The light scrabbling sounds of Gollum climbing on the stone drew near and then the small creature crept into view, a darker hunched shape outlined by the moonlight on top of the rock directly above Legolas. "Mine," the creature hissed. "Tricksy elveses stole my preciouss..."

    Very slowly, almost absolutely silently, Gollum crept down the rock, until he was just a little ways above Legolas, and extended a hand toward the ring which lay on its chain, openly glinting on the elf's chest.

    Then it all happened very fast. Legolas grabbed Gollum and flipped him to the ground. But Gollum was stronger than he looked and slithered free. He tried to run, but Sam blocked one route, with Sting leveled in threat. Gollum whirled and tried to go the opposite direction, only to yelp in fright as a large, black shape emerged into his path. Dúlhach trumpeted and reared, hooves slashing the air.

    In the moment that Gollum had been frozen by fear of her sudden appearance, Legolas tackled him from behind. But the move was unwise -- Legolas let out a cry at the impact and seemed unable to stop Gollum, as the creature wriggled and struggled, succeeding eventually in flipping them over, so Legolas was on his back.

    The elf had one hand clutched around the ring, but otherwise seemed paralyzed, as Gollum's scrawny hands went around his neck. Sam had a terrifying glimpse of Legolas' face -- white as the moon, and creased in agony.

    "Stop! Get off him!" Sam threw both arms around Gollum and dragged him off the elf. But it was like trying to hold onto an eel -- Gollum writhed and nearly slipped free. He bit Sam's arm, and in his resulting surprise, Sam fell backward.

    Gollum was snatched from his grip with sudden force and thrown to the ground. Sitting up to see what had happened, Sam glimpsed Legolas, kneeling on the creature's chest and arms, one hand around Gollum's neck, and the other holding his knife up in threat. To Sam's shock, Legolas' knife blade was palely glowing, like Sting. Gollum's screams dwindled to a whine of wordless terror, his hands futilely scrabbling in the dirt. Sam felt an unexpected twinge of pity for the creature.

    "Silence, little one," Legolas whispered and Sam didn't know what Legolas did, but Gollum fell quiet, staring up at him with giant, mirror-like eyes. The ring dangled from its chain between the two and Gollum's eyes followed it.

    "Do you know what happened to the last one who tried to take the ring from me?" Legolas asked Gollum in a lethal purr. "He died."

    Sam started, a cold suspicion of what Legolas meant trailing down his back. He abruptly understood Legolas' carrying of Boromir's sword. He scrambled to his feet and rushed to stand beside them. "Legolas! No! You can't!"

    "Why not?" Legolas traced the curve of Gollum's jaw with the flat of his blade. His rage was nearly palpable, like a cold wind blowing through their small camp. "Six of my people were slain because of him. Six immortal lives cut short because of his evil."

    "Oh," Sam thought frantically of some counter argument. He didn't realize that there had been any deaths when Gollum had escaped Mirkwood. But Legolas couldn't do this, not deliberate murder. It would push him deeper into the ring's influence. "You can't kill him," Sam added desperately, "He can help us. He can. He's been to Mordor. We need what he knows."

    Legolas sat back a little, appearing to consider Sam's words. Gollum gurgled something that might have been a plea or agreement. "True," Legolas said. "He could be of use to us. Very well." Then he leaned forward again and slowly brought the knife down to just prick Gollum's chest with it. Gollum let out a thin, wavering cry. 

    Legolas smiled slightly, and it made Sam shiver. There was little of Legolas and a great deal of hungry anticipation in that smile. "Samwise spares your life, so that you will serve us. But hear me, Sméagol . If you try to steal the ring from me again, if you try to hurt either of us, I will kill you."

    The threat was delivered coldly enough that Gollum seemed to believe it. His wide gaze was now fixed on Legolas' face, not the ring, and he nodded frantically, whimpering in fear. 

    Legolas released his neck, and after making deep coughing sounds in his throat, Gollum whined, "Yes, yes, we swears -- we will serve the master of the Precious. We swears. Let us go, master, bright knife of fierce elves hurts us," he whimpered. "Hurts."

    Legolas let Gollum go, and rose to his feet smoothly, resheathing his knife. "Then it is done. Sméagol shall be our guide once we cross the Anduin."

    Gollum levered himself up to a squat, glancing up at Legolas and then cowering back down. But he suddenly cackled, laughter that had more sorrow and bitterness in it than humor. "No, no, don't ask poor Sméagol to find the way. Sméagol went away long ago. They took his Precious. And he is lost! Lost!"

    Legolas looked down at him, and after a moment his face softened with pity. "No, Sméagol isn't lost," he murmured. "Sméagol has been found. For I knew Sméagol and his people, and I remember what was."

    Gollum turned his large eyes up at the elf, and for the first time, Sam saw a trace of the Sméagol who once had lived, before the ring. "Master will be nice to poor Sméagol?" he asked with a hopeful quaver in his voice.

    "If Sméagol is nice to us," Legolas answered.

    Gollum abruptly threw himself forward, clasping Legolas around the knees. Though both elf and hobbit had weapons ready, Gollum did nothing more. "Master must not go," he pleaded, looking up earnestly, "Ashes, and ashes, and dust there is. And orcs, thousands and thousands of orcses. Bright master elf must not go to the shadows."

    Legolas glanced toward Mordor. "We will neither of us be free of him, Sméagol, unless I go. Or Sauron will find it and take it back. The ring must be destroyed to keep it from him." He gently detached himself from Gollum's grip and stepped back. "You know this. You must help us find a way in."

    Gollum hesitated and reluctantly bobbed his head in agreement. "He must not gets it," he declared, with surprising force. "No, the Precious must not go to Him." 

    "No, it must not," Legolas agreed. "And so you will help us. There is a path, is there not? A secret way?"

    Gollum flinched and shrank into himself. "Master must not go that way," he said, shaking his head. "No, no." 

    Legolas went on one knee to better look Gollum in the eyes. "Sméagol, I cannot go through the Morannon. I know nothing passes that way unseen. I need another way. Is there one, perhaps, through Morgulduinnan?"

    Gollum shook his head, clutching it miserably between his hands. "No, darkness. Bad things in the darkness. Bright master elf will shine like White Face."

    "You need not go in with me, Sméagol, only show me the path. Leave the darkness to me," Legolas said.

    Gollum turned large, miserable eyes on him. "Darkness will catch you, Master. The ring will go to Him."

    "No. I am of the Firstborn, Sméagol. Darkness shall not catch me. Sauron will not take the ring from me."

    A sly smile grew on Gollum's face, but it was not directed at either of his new companions. He straightened and shook a fist toward the east with new defiance. "The Precious will never be His. Bright master elf stops you."

    "I will," Legolas added in quiet promise. He returned to his feet and glanced at Sam. "It is early yet. What do you say to a better supper?"

    Sam blinked up at him in confusion, rather rattled by both Gollum and Legolas' changing moods. 

    Legolas explained, "I understand our new companion is quite good at catching fish. Sméagol, can you catch a fish for Samwise?" 

    "Yesss, master," Gollum bobbed his head as he pulled himself to his regular crouch. "Fish." He bounded away toward the bank of the nearby tributary of the Entwash, singing a song about fish under his breath.

    The moment he was gone, Legolas wavered and threw out a hand against the stone wall to hold himself up, with his other hand cradling his wound.

    "Legolas!" Sam dashed up to him. "Are you all right? Did your wound open?"

    Legolas lifted his hand away and Sam anxiously pulled up the tunics to look at the bandages. There was fresh blood staining the linen. "You have to sit down," he coaxed Legolas back to his place by the fire and helped him down. "I'm going to rewrap this, and then you have to rest."

    As he withdrew his materials from his pack, he asked, "Why did you let him go? I didn't want you to kill him, but I don't think you should just let him go either. He's dangerous! You should let me tie him up." He brought out the length of elvish rope and shook it once for Legolas to see. 

    The elf shrugged slightly. "If he leaves, he will return."

    "But at least if we bind him, he can't strangle us in our sleep when he comes back!" 

    "He fears me, Sam," Legolas murmured and his hand moved up to touch the ring. He then slid the chain back under his tunic. "The ring draws him, but he recognizes that I hold its power. I think he will obey for now."

    "'For now'? 'You think'?" Sam repeated anxiously, glancing in the direction of the sounds of splashing water that suggested Gollum was, in fact, trying to catch a fish for supper.

    "He will try for the ring again." It was said as a statement of fact, about which Legolas had no doubts. But his gaze was troubled. "I am glad you stopped me, Sam. It was ... a near thing. Thank you."

    "Did you --?" Sam started to ask about Boromir and decided he already knew the answer. There was a shadow of guilt around Legolas, and there was no need to increase it by forcing him to explain that he and Boromir had fought over the ring and Boromir had died.

    "'Did I' -- what?" Legolas prompted, but warily. He no doubt knew that Sam was thinking about Boromir too.

    Sam began to rebandage Legolas' wound, finding less damage that he expected from the tussle. It was bleeding again, but as a slow trickle. "Did you know Gollum in Mirkwood? Is that how you know his name?"

    Legolas seemed relieved by the question. "Yes, Gandalf learned his name while Sméagol was imprisoned in my father's halls. He learned that Sméagol had told Sauron of the Shire and the name of Baggins there, and he rushed off to try to save your friend." 

    Sam swallowed, thinking of Frodo. Legolas continued, eyes distant with memory, "Not long after, a great horde of orcs entered the forest. Such a large force has not dared to go beneath the trees so near the hall for many, many years. Sméagol's guards were slain and he escaped. I and many others of my kin searched months for him throughout the forest, but he was already beyond our reach in Moria, as we know now."

    After he had tied off the end of the bandage, Sam went to build up the fire against the damp chill that had settled over camp, and in hope that maybe Gollum actually would bring back a fish.

    In a quiet voice, Legolas said, "Sam, we must not allow him to learn how injured I am. So we must leave tomorrow. Along the way, you must look for _athelas_. It is a small shrub with white flowers and dark leaves --"

    "I know what it is," Sam interrupted. "Strider wanted to find some when Frodo was stabbed by the wraith."

    Legolas frowned slightly, apparently not having heard that story, but then dismissed it with a quick shake of his head. "Then you know it has healing properties. In truth I do not know whether it grows this far south. There is another plant, I believe in the common tongue it is called lady's foot --"

    Sam stared in him in dismay. He knew the plant well -- it had beautiful, slipper-shaped dark pink flowers, but eating one flower or leaf had been known to kill hobbit children. It had been all but eradicated from the Shire as a menace, except Master Bilbo had kept some in his window boxes. "But that's poisonous!"

    Legolas shook his head. "To Men. In small amounts it dulls pain for an elf. I dare not show more weakness, or I will have to kill him."

    Sam nodded, and had to swallow hard, because he really did understand. Gollum might be ready to obey Legolas for now, but Sam had no doubt that if he sniffed out Legolas' weakness, that willingness would disappear and he would attack to get the ring. Legolas would have to kill him to keep him away. 

    Sam reflected for a moment how far he had truly come since that day he had unwisely eavesdropped on a wizard. He wondered if his Gaffer would even recognize him when -- if -- he returned to the Shire.

    Legolas' gaze was on him, and as if he had read Sam's mind, he murmured, "I will get you home, Samwise, if it is at all within my power. I swear."

    Sam forced a smile. "Now, don't you go worrying about that yet. I'm afraid you're stuck with me for now and for a long time to come."

    Legolas gave one of his fleeting smiles and then turned his head sharply to the east. "He comes."

    Sam tensed and loosened Sting in its scabbard, but didn't draw it. After a moment, he heard a tuneless song and the odd footsteps of Gollum, who was not trying to approach in stealth. He appeared, gamboling about like an eager puppy on long limbs, with a surprisingly large, silver fish held tightly in one hand. He ran straight up to Legolas. "See, Master? Look what good Sméagol has brought? Tasty fish, nice fish," he smacked his lips together and held the fish by its tail as though about to drop it in Legolas' lap.

    Legolas pressed his lips together and leaned away from the fish. "Very nice. Please give it to Samwise."

    Sam recoiled when Gollum thrust the fish at his face, then took it. "This'll do very nicely. I'll fry it up -- "

    "No!" Gollum wailed. "You'll ruin lovely fish with nasty fry, stupid hobbit!" 

    Sam was about to retort angrily, when Legolas intervened. "Sam, give Sméagol half of the fish. He can eat it however he wants."

    Glancing dubiously at Legolas, Sam did so, and tried not to watch or listen as Gollum sank his teeth into the raw fish and chewed with obvious delight. Only after he had chewed off the tail, did it occur to him that Legolas might want some. "Master? Does master want juicy fish?"

    Sam could've sworn Legolas turned slightly greenish around the edge of his pallor. Still, he answered politely, "No, thank you. It is all yours. I have my own." He held up a small piece of _lembas_.

    Gollum cocked his head to one side and blinked. "What food does master have?"

    "_Lembas_," Legolas explained and broke off a corner. He held it out in his hand. "Go ahead, try some. I don't believe we ever offered you any in the forest."

    Gollum sidled near, took one sideways look at the _lembas_, and snatched it from Legolas' open palm. Sam suppressed a smile, thinking it reminded him of taming a bird to eat from one's hand. Except of course, birds were unlikely to slit their throats if they saw a moment's advantage.

    Gollum sniffed at the bread. "Smells of elveses it does," he muttered dubiously, and put it in his mouth. He almost immediately spat it out again, and coughed violently as if he was about to be sick. "Ashes! Choking dust and ashes! Master can keep his nasty bread. Sweet fish, juicy fish is for Sméagol."

    Pouting, Gollum went to the far side of camp and chewed on his fish. Sam expected to share a wry look with Legolas, but the elf was looking at the _lembas _bread in his hand with an odd expression.

    Sam cooked his fish and ate it, relieved to have some other food in his stomach. Perhaps with Gollum around, Legolas wouldn't need to hunt for Sam and could concentrate on healing himself.

    Then he glanced at Gollum, still sucking happily on the fish bones, and a chill foreboding slipped down his spine. Nothing else had gone right on this quest -- why should this?

  


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Continued in Chapter 4: On Dark Wings 


	4. On Dark Wings

_Disclaimer: Based on 'The Lord of the Rings', by JRR Tolkien. This is a non-commercial work. No infringement of copyright is intended._

"Window of the Sunset" is the fourth in the _Broken Fellowship Series_. It is ** strongly** recommended that you read the previous stories first.  


* * *

  
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The Broken Fellowship, Book IV:

_Window of the Sunset_

_Chapter 4: On Dark Wings_

by Lizardbeth Johnson

  


    In the morning, Sam was pleased to discover that both he and Legolas were still living. He doubted that Gollum's change extended very deeply. The creature was likely biding his time for them to relax their guard, which Sam was determined not to do. He didn't think Legolas would either, despite his seeming acceptance of Gollum as servant. 

    It was a side of Legolas that Sam hadn't seen before, watching the elf interact with Gollum. He was kind and patient, yet also stern and commanding when necessary. He reminded Sam somewhat of Elrond, but he supposed that was really no surprise. Legolas' father was king of the elves of Mirkwood, and it seemed that Legolas was displaying his upbringing as an elf-prince. But no matter how he did it, Legolas seemed determined to call as much of Sméagol back from the ring's influence as he could.

    It began in the morning when Gollum resisted coming with them during the daylight, even though the sky was deeply overcast and the sun barely visible. But Legolas stood there, not showing a flicker of pain on his face, with only a hand on Dúlhach 's withers as a sign of his injury, and commanded Gollum to come with them. Somewhat sullenly Gollum did so.

    As they walked at a slow pace toward the river, Legolas told stories of a time long ago when Gollum's people had lived by the banks of the Anduin. Gollum pretended he wasn't listening, but every time it seemed Legolas would stop, he was there at Legolas' side. His wide eyes flickered with sorrow and loss, but he seemed to come back more to himself as Legolas' stories reminded him of his past.

    Legolas wore his weapons and walked unaided, though Sam noticed that Dúlhach stayed within reach. The elf had even re-strung his bow, and only a tightening of his lips and around his eyes had given away how much the effort had hurt him. If Gollum wondered why the black horse was with them, walking placidly alongside as though drawn by a halter, he didn't ask. After the first wary looks up at the horse, Gollum seemed not to pay attention to her at all.

    But Dúlhach watched him. Having seen what those hooves could do to a man, Sam was comfortable enough with her guard over Legolas to wander away from the group and search for the herbs that Legolas requested. He doubted he would find kingsfoil here, since the plant grew mostly in damp, shaded corners, but lady's foot liked drier soil and tended to sprout the moment the snow was gone.

    He left Legolas, Gollum, and the horse pacing south-east in the shallow wash between two ridges and climbed to the top of the ridge. Eastward he saw the line of tall trees that marked the banks of the Anduin. Below him, between his ridge and the next low rocky hill, on the slope mixed in with young grass were many dark green plants with wide leaves. A few were already sprouting deep pink flowers.

    At first he was afraid that his eyes were tricking him, but no, he had found a whole field of lady's foot plants. Using Sting, he carefully cut two plants at the stem and used the edge of his cloak to put them into his pack without touching them. 

    When he found the others, Legolas was leaning against Dúlhach and Gollum was nowhere to be seen. "Where'd he go?" Sam asked.

    Legolas gestured vaguely up at the sky, where the Sun was peering through the clouds, like a shy maiden behind a veil. "It is lighter. He was complaining, so I told him to go to shelter and meet us after sunset."

    "I found lady's foot," Sam announced and Legolas' eyes brightened. 

    "You did?"

    For answer, Sam opened the top of his pack and Legolas reached in and broke off one of the spade-shaped leaves. "Thank the Valar," he murmured and put it in his mouth. For just a moment, he clearly fought the impulse to be sick and then started chewing the leaf, his face set and determined. Then he broke off several leaves and put them into his water skin, as if making a cold tea. He spat out the remnants of the leaf, unwilling to swallow it, and then spat again to clear his mouth. "I had forgotten how bitter it tastes." His nose wrinkled in disgust and then smoothed out and he inhaled a deep breath. "But I do feel better. Thank you. We should continue." He kept a hand on Dúlhach but did not seem to need her help too much as he walked.

    They moved on slowly southeast, no longer on the road which had driven straight south to meet the main road between Minas Tirith and Orthanc. There was, Legolas had said, one last main branch of the Entwash left to cross before attempting the crossing of the Anduin itself as the river's course turned eastward.

    At mid-day, though it was difficult to tell with the sun mostly hidden, Legolas suddenly stopped and lifted his face to the breeze.

    "What is it?" Sam asked, moving up beside him. "Is Gollum coming back?"

    "No," Legolas said and then, more surprised, "Yes. He is. But that is not what I sense."

    With a sinking feeling, Sam pulled out Sting, but it was not showing signs of orcs. Not that it meant all that much, since Legolas seemed to have a wider range than the sword did for sensing the presence of enemies. "Orcs?"

    "No, I think not," Legolas said slowly, his eyes lowered to mere slits as he concentrated. "There is a change in the wind. Something comes. Let us make haste for the trees beside the river -- they will offer better cover than this."

    They made what speed they could, at a fast walking pace. Sam refused to run, more for Legolas' sake than his own. Whatever evil was afoot, it would do no good to fight it exhausted. Legolas grew more visibly anxious as they walked, searching ahead of them and the sky with his keen eyes.

    Gollum suddenly appeared from behind a large boulder before them. "Make haste, Master," he quivered in distress and beckoned them to follow. He scampered ahead, making for the trees that Sam could now see, poking their crowns above the ridge. "Hurry, Master," he coaxed, looking back over his shoulder.

    They followed and soon Legolas had to use Dúlhach to keep his feet, whether Gollum saw or not. He chewed another leaf as well, and even so, his skin was pale and strained with the effort.

    Gollum noticed, and it distracted him long enough to stop and cock his head upward at the tall elf. "Master is hurt?" He even sounded worried.

    The show of concern irritated Sam and he hurled the words spitefully, "_Master _was stabbed by one of the men _you_ called to find him at the village."

    Gollum looked stricken and crowded close to Legolas' feet. "Master was hurt? Bad Gollum hurt kind master of the Precious?"

    Impatiently, Legolas stepped away, and his gaze swept the eastern horizon. "I am well enough. We have to find cover. Now."

    It took both Sam and Gollum a moment to follow, Sam taken aback by Legolas' sudden burst of speed as he took off and briefly left the others behind. But Sam soon realized what caused Legolas' worry -- there were pitch black clouds climbing and roiling above the Ephel Dúath, heading their way.

    A storm was coming.

    At the exact same moment, Legolas and Gollum halted and their bodies tensed as though hearing something far away. Sam stopped too, and strained his ears. There was something.

    Like a distant wind howling, at the edge of his hearing, there was a high, wailing shriek, as of some beast in terrible pain. Sam felt his blood chill -- he had heard that sound before.

    "Run!" Legolas shouted. One arm braced around Dúlhach 's neck, he let her mostly carry him toward the trees.

    But these trees, though large, were still mostly bare from the winter and though their trunks were thick, the branches were mostly thin and green with new growth. The cover they offered seemed doubtful but Sam followed, his pan clanging behind him as he ran.

    The wind strengthened, and it grew very cold, as the storm shoved its way toward them.

    Legolas' course angled slightly southward and Sam realized he was heading for a small copse of young trees.

    Sam pushed his way through the branches only to trip and nearly fall into Dúlhach. Legolas clutched the slender trunk of one of the trees, leaning against it so closely it seemed he was trying to join with it.

    Gollum burst into the small hiding place, gibbering with fear. He tugged at Legolas' cloak. "Master, they come. They come for the Precious! Hide!"

    The terrible shriek sounded again, closer, and the storm arrived with a gust of wind that rattled their sheltering branches. The sun was hidden completely behind the thick clouds, and Sam could barely see Legolas at all. Even Gollum was merely a pale shape in the dimness.

    Legolas sank to the ground against the slender trunk, flipping his hood over his head. Sam quickly did the same, realizing that only their elven cloaks might now serve to hide them from the prying eyes of the Shadow.

    Gollum trembled, hugging the ground beneath the smallest and bushiest covering tree he could find, borrowing into the dead leaves left over from fall.

    But as Sam glanced at the large raven-black bulk of Dúlhach, he knew that nothing was going to hide her from the wraith's gaze or the eyes of the beast it rode.

    Sam looked at Legolas, who seemed to be staring blankly from out of his hood. His right hand crept up to his throat, slowly, and Sam realized what was happening. He had seen this in Frodo, too.

    Sam threw himself across the few paces that separated them, and grabbed Legolas' forearm. "No," he whispered urgently. Legolas' arm was like stone under his hand, immovable. Yet Sam knew the elf must also be resisting, since he could easily throw Sam off if he wanted. "Legolas, no."

    He felt Legolas tremble as the wraith passed overhead, but because he could still feel the hard tension in the elf's muscles, Sam did not relax. He doggedly held onto Legolas' arm, even as Legolas' blue eyes began to shine with an eldritch light within the depth of his hood. He began to murmur something in a harsh language that sounded like nothing Sam had heard before, and certainly wasn't elvish.

    The immense creature carrying the wraith wheeled around in the west and came back toward them, this time lower. There was no possible way that it would not see them. He and Legolas were half-uncovered by their cloaks, and there were only thin bare branches between them and the wraith.

    Suddenly, Dúlhach gave a loud trumpeting call and leaped away through the undergrowth. Sam knew exactly what she was doing. "No," he wanted to yell the denial, but it came out as a whisper. "Dúlhach, no."

    The giant bat-like _thing_ wheeled on one pinion, to track the horse as she raced at a full gallop toward the west, away from them.

    Sam couldn't see, but he heard it -- the triumphant shriek of the creature as it dove, and the matching enraged scream coming from the horse.

    Next he saw the flying creature soaring back into the sky, two sets of claws clutching a limp black shape beneath them. With another chilling shriek, the beast let go and Dúlhach plummeted to the ground. Even at this distance they could hear the impact.

    "No," Sam whispered and felt tears on his cheeks.

    The wraith wheeled again to fly back east, gaining altitude, and vanished into the distance.

    Under his arm, Legolas suddenly relaxed and the fearsome glow dissipated from his eyes. Sam released him, and Legolas' hand dropped to his lap. The elf fell back limply against the tree trunk as if he had been drained of all strength, and closed his eyes.

    Gollum pushed himself upright, looking eastward with saucer eyes, "Wraiths on wings!" he wailed. "The Precious is their master. They see everything, everything. And they tell Him everything. He knows!" 

    Legolas whispered in eerie echo, "He knows." Then, in a more normal voice, he murmured, "_Ai Dúlhach, mellon beren nín_." He said an elvish prayer for the horse, as a tear slowly slid down his cheek. 

    Heavy of heart and still fearful, the three companions did not move from the shelter of the young trees until the faint sunlight sank in the west, and it was time to depart under cover of darkness.

*~*~*~*~*~*

    They walked for two days, keeping a steady pace. Legolas wanted to move faster, but he knew it would be unwise to force himself to go too quickly. His wound was healing, albeit slower than he thought it should be, but it still burned when he walked or even breathed. At least chewing the leaves kept the pain somewhat at bay. Even the permanent ache in his injured hand subsided under the influence of the medicinal plant.

    But nothing eased the ache in his heart, having seen Dúlhach fall to the earth. He knew she had sacrificed herself for him, to distract the Nazgûl from him and the ring. Her last thought before she had left the trees had been a crystal blade cutting past the nearly overwhelming desire of the ring to be found: 

    _"Boe ú-echedich i gorf vorn, ernil uin laegeldrim, a datholthach i galad an Ennorath. Ríno nin." _

    Then she had turned and was gone. Without her, everything grew just a bit darker.

    Rather to Legolas' surprise, after Gollum discovered the truth of his wound, he did not attempt to take advantage of it. Instead, he remained generally solicitous, and did not object to fishing for himself and Sam.

    But Legolas always could feel when the sly, tainted part of Gollum began to rise back to the surface of Gollum's spirit. So far Gollum had been able to combat it. But, like Legolas himself, he knew that it would not continue forever. Gollum had also grown somewhat docile in Mirkwood, but had betrayed their kindness in the end.

    So Legolas remained wary, but his powers gave him warning enough that he felt rather confident that the threat was contained.

    The only difficulty was in getting Gollum to speak about paths into Mordor. His reaction had confirmed that he had passed by Minas Morgul but he refused to give details of the journey, only to say that it was a dark, hidden way. Legolas was not fond of the idea of passing close to Minas Morgul either, but whatever route Gollum had found had to be better than attempting to climb the Ephel Dúath or sneak in through the Black Gates.

    On the third night they found the southern-most branch of the Onodló. Legolas stood on the last ridge, before it dipped down to a broad flat plain that stretched several hundred paces across. The moonlight shone on high forests of reeds that grew in the shallow water. Legolas thought it was fortunate, particularly for Sam, that the weather had remained cold, so that the majority of snow-melt had not yet come down from the Misty Mountains to fully flood the river course.

    But he wished for Dúlhach to carry them across.

    Gollum splashed comfortably ahead of them, more at home in the fen than his two companions. He found a narrow passage for them, through the reeds. Sam struggled through cold water that came up in places to his waist. Both of them bundled their cloaks so the hem would not drag in the water, and Legolas put his swordbelt over his shoulder to protect the scabbard.

    Most of the reeds were last year's dead remnants, and they rustled and groaned softly in the night wind. Because they grew higher than even Legolas' head, enclosing the small company in a dark forest of slender green and brown stems, he listened carefully for any threat nearby. Mysterious splashes to either side suggested they were being paced by something, but he was unable to glimpse whatever it was. He held his bow in his left hand, ready to put an arrow to his string the moment anything came into sight.

    Abruptly, he sensed the cold, foul breeze from Gollum strengthen, warning of danger. "Sam, be wary," he called to the hobbit, who was several paces ahead, following Gollum.

    Sam's footsteps faltered, as he stopped to look around. When he continued, forward, he put a hand on Sting's hilt. "Gollum!" he cursed in irritation, pushing between two clumps of reeds that grew close together. "Curse that creature," he muttered. "It's narrow."

    From ahead of them, Gollum called in a false, sly voice, "Not far, Master. Hurry, yes, you must make haste."

    Instead of going more quickly, Legolas slowed to allow Sam to get farther ahead. He slipped through the narrow passage, having to hold his bow across his chest. Some of the reeds were as thick around as his arm, and might well have been stone for all that they gave way.

    There. To his left. He turned quickly as he heard movement in the water, but saw nothing.

    "It's all right," Sam called. "It opens up."

    Still wary, Legolas moved to join him. The path did open up into empty ground, slightly deeper than the rest so the water came up to the top of his boots. The reeds ringed the space, approximately eight paces across.

    "Gollum!" Sam shouted. "Where did you go? Which way?" His only answer was a soft laugh somewhere eastward. He glanced back at Legolas, his brow creased in irritation. "I think he's playing a trick. I don't see the way out."

    Legolas saw immediately what Sam meant. The reeds grew close together, thin ones filling the spaces between thick ones all around, except the entrance. The only empty spaces were no wider than his hand -- wide enough for their nearly skeletal friend, but not enough for elf or hobbit to get through.

    But apparently large enough for something else, when he heard the splashing sounds again, close on either side.

    "It's a trap!" Legolas brought up his bow and nocked an arrow.

    But it was too late.

  


* * *

_Ai Dúlhach, mellon beren nín_ = 'O Dúlhach, my brave friend'  
_Boe ú-echedich i gorf vorn, ernil uin laegeldrim, a datholthach i galad an Ennorath. Ríno nin. _ = 'You must unmake the dark ring, prince of the green elves, and bring back the light to Middle-Earth. Remember me.' Continued in Chapter 5: Promises of Death   



	5. Promises of Death

**Thanks** to all those who have written such great comments! I really appreciate the feedback! It's great to know that there are people willing to take a chance on something a bit different...

_Disclaimer: Based on 'The Lord of the Rings', by JRR Tolkien. This is a non-commercial work. No infringement of copyright is intended._

"Window of the Sunset" is the fourth in the _Broken Fellowship Series_. It is ** strongly** recommended that you read the previous stories first.  


* * *

  
****

The Broken Fellowship, Book IV:

_Window of the Sunset_

_Chapter 5: Promises of Death_

by Lizardbeth Johnson

  


    The creatures attacked. They were some sort of serpents, Legolas saw as one came at him. It had silver fish-like scales mottled with green and brown, was twice as long as he was high and as thick as his arm, with a broad, spade-shaped head. It had launched itself out of the water like a spear.

    He fired his arrow straight into its open, toothless mouth but the arrow didn't even slow it down. It slammed into his chest, knocking him backward into the water. The cold water was almost as much of a shock as the impact, especially as his head splashed and the water closed over his face. The serpent's heavy weight settled onto him even as he grabbed coils of it, to keep it from wrapping him around the neck. The tail slid around his waist and then a second coil joined it, wrapping him tightly even while he struggled to hold onto it. But his fingers could barely grasp the slick skin.

    He struggled not to breathe underwater, even as it wrapped his chest and abdomen in an ever-constricting grip. He fought to keep his hands free, having strength enough for that, but not enough to pull it off him. He grabbed the snake behind the head with both hands and squeezed. It seemed not to notice. Coils flowed up his arm, threatening to trap his hands. 

    Knowing the only way out of this was to take a risk, he opened his right hand and grabbed for the hilt of a weapon behind his head. Quick as lightning the serpent pulled loose of his other hand and had a coil around his neck.

    His fingers grasped the sword hilt, but he was lying atop the scabbard and he had no leverage to pull the sword. He let go to search for a knife, but couldn't find one. His weapons harness had shifted position when he fell, and he fumbled behind his head, fingers digging in the mud.

    _Valar, help me_, he prayed.

    He couldn't breathe. It was tightening on his throat, like a noose around his neck slowly strangling him. He wanted to take a desperate breath, draw air in through his tortured throat, but could not beneath the water.

    _What of Sam?_ he thought suddenly. _There was another creature._

    Filled with a last burst of panicked strength, he struggled and stretched, one hand trying to pull the serpent off, and the other still feeling for his knives. 

    There. The tips of his fingers felt the hilt of his knife under his opposite shoulder and with a heave that caused a sharp pain in his wrist, he managed to grasp the hilt and pull it.

    He stabbed the serpent just below the head. The coils tightened, and he stabbed again, seeking to sever its spine.

    It writhed in its death throes, putting painful pressure on his ribs and squeezing his wound in a vise, but finally, he thrust the blade between two vertebrae, cutting the snake apart. It gave a shudder and was still. The coils loosened enough that he pulled one off his neck and pushed himself up, gasping for air and unable to believe he had nearly drowned in less than three handspans of water.

    He glanced around for Sam, seeing a snake-wrapped form to his left in the water. "Sam!"

    Legolas yanked limp and heavy coils off himself so he could stand, and freed his sword as he ran, hoping his little halfling friend was still alive.

    Though wrapped by at least six coils around his body, Sam's head was out of the water. His eyes were open and when he saw Legolas, he gasped for help with scarcely any breath.

    There was not much time.

    Legolas grabbed the serpent behind the head, ignoring the open, unfanged mouth, and pulled. Sam gasped as the coils tightened around him, but Legolas pulled again, forcing the creature away from Sam.

    With his other hand, he brought the sword down. It cut cleanly, severing the serpent's head from its body. He flung the head away and bent to help loosen the rest of the serpent.

    After he was free, Sam continued to sit in the water and rub his throat.

    "Are you hurt?" Legolas asked in concern, kneeling beside him. He too was soaked through to the skin, and it no longer seemed to make any difference whether he was in the water or not.

    Sam shook his head. "I thought you were dead," he said finally. "You didn't come, and I thought it had gotten you."

    "It was a near thing," Legolas wrung the excess water out of his hair. "Come, Samwise, it is cold and we are both wet. We need to get clear of this fen and build a fire."

    He stood and extended his hand to help Sam up. But Sam didn't take it immediately. He looked up at Legolas, who could see the anger spark in those usually mild eyes. "Gollum betrayed us."

    "Yes, he did," Legolas agreed. He turned once in a circle, looking for a sign of the creature. There was none. Nor was there any mercy left in his heart, not after this. Not after both he and Sam nearly died. Coldly he answered Sam's unspoken question, "The next time I see him, I will kill him. And this time, Samwise, do not stop me."

    It did not even bother him that the ring felt warm on his hand at the oath, and his various aches completely disappeared. His desire and the ring's desire were, in that moment, completely in accord.

    Gollum would die.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    It was with a great sense of relief that Sam climbed the slope that marked the end of the Entwash and onto the plain of Anórien. At least they were out of the water and could now start to dry. Unfortunately there were no trees, so little in the way of fuel for a fire.

    Though the air was cold, while they kept moving it was not so bad. Only when they paused did the air seem to cut right through his clothes and make him feel like a walking icicle.

    "I thought the south was supposed to be warmer," he muttered as he trailed behind Legolas.

    "Once the sun rises, it will be warmer," Legolas promised, glancing back over his shoulder at Sam. "Do you want to stop?"

    "No," Sam shook his head adamantly, shivering just thinking about it. "Not yet." He glanced eastward where the stars were just beginning to fade with the coming of first light. "Hurry up, Sun," he muttered.

    Not long after, the sun rose with a flash of color along the undersides of the wispy clouds and immediately, the air was warmer.

    Sam looked at his companion by the bright light, and couldn't help a smile. The elf's usual immaculate look was rumpled -- there was mud drying in his hair and one braid had come undone. The fletchings on some of his arrows were bedraggled, and his clothes were wrinkled and muddy.

    "What is it?" Legolas asked, catching his smile.

    Sam gestured toward him then down at his own equally disheveled state. "We look as though --"

    "We fought giant water-serpents and barely escaped with our lives?" Legolas finished, with a flicker of a smile of his own. "We should make camp. I need to check my gear, and you need to rest."

    Legolas found a stand of strange bushes with short little thorns, their branches already carrying new, dark green leaves, for their camp.

    "Rest for a little while, Sam," Legolas urged him. He laid both their cloaks and his outer tunic over the bushes to dry. Sam likewise laid out items from his pack, carefully inspecting everything for damage and damp, from when the serpent had clasped him in its tight embrace.

    He found his blanket was merely wet on one edge, though it smelled like damp horse, and he sat on it to keep off the dewy grass. Luckily his tinderbox and the tin of salt had remained dry.

    As Sam inspected his pack, Legolas did the same with his weapons. The elf seated himself on a flat-topped rock and examined each arrow remaining in his quiver, smoothing the fletchings back into place and laying two aside that needed repair. He then looked at his quiver, frowning at a crack that marred the upper half. He examined his bow minutely, removing the wet string so the wood would dry in the proper shape.

    Sam fell asleep to the soft, repetitive sounds of Legolas combing out his hair.

    He awoke when Legolas touched his shoulder and shook gently. "Sam, forgive me, but we must continue on."

    Sam did not open his eyes for a moment, basking in the sun shining overhead. He felt warm for possibly the first time since Lothlórien.

    Legolas' voice sounded amused. "You remind me of a lizard sunbathing on a stone."

    "I feel like one," Sam admitted and shifted onto his side, to open his eyes and look up at Legolas.

    The disarray from last night was gone. Legolas had put on his overtunic and cloak again and had made some effort to brush off the mud so he looked clean. But more than that, his eyes seemed brighter in the sunlight, and his lips were turned up in a little smirk.

    Sam couldn't help smiling back as he sat up and brushed his fingers through his hair. "I guess we should be on our way." He stretched and noticed that his elf-friend had not been idle. He had built a small fire with the dead branches off the bushes of their shelter, and next to it, lay a coney.

    "Breakfast first?" Legolas suggested. "It very nearly ran across my foot. I only had to throw a knife at it."

    Sam had it cleaned and in his pan quickly and soon the smell of broiled rabbit filled the air. His stomach growled, causing Legolas to laugh.

    Unfortunately the rabbit was one of the active ones and was therefore very tough and stringy, but Sam didn't complain. Chewing determinedly, he asked, "So, what's the plan for the rest of the day?"

    Legolas, who had been standing on the large rock upwind of the cooking meat, jumped down to the ground. "Walking," he answered, and Sam rolled his eyes at the obvious statement. "Crossing the Anduin if we can. The closer to Cair Andros we come, the more likely we are to encounter Gondorians. I would like to avoid that if possible."

    Sam frowned at him. He wanted to ask a question, but couldn't while he was chewing. Legolas waited patiently for him to finish, looking amused. Finally, Sam swallowed his bite. "I thought Cair Andros was an island. Wouldn't it be easier for us to cross there?"

    "Yes, it would be, if we were not trying to cross without being seen. However, Boromir said that Gondor had fortified the island and stationed many men to guard it," Legolas answered. "It has a bridge only on the Gondor side, but that still makes it a route for Mordor to gain entry to these lands." His gaze moved off to stare eastward, brow narrowed in thought. "Especially with Saruman's betrayal to the west, Cair Andros will be caught between Angrenost and Mordor. It will likely fall, and the Gondorians retreat to protect Minas Tirith. The city is less than twenty leagues to the south."

    "Then, let's be on our way." 

    Sam repacked his things, and very soon the two were walking south. 

*~*~*~*~*~*

    That evening Sam returned to the camp and their small fire with water to boil for tea. He found Legolas with Boromir's sword across his lap, drawing a sharpening stone methodically along the edge. For just a moment, Sam hesitated and looked -- truly _looked _-- at his elvish companion. He suddenly remembered how, at the very beginning of all this, he'd been so thrilled at the mere thought of meeting some elves. He and Frodo had seen them that first night out of Hobbiton, and it had been wondrous. But after Rivendell and Lothlórien, and traveling all these weeks with Legolas, the novelty had quite worn away. Legolas was his friend, and he rarely had a thought that Legolas was an elf. He was no longer blinded by the mystique of the ageless race.

    Now, in that quiet moment, he looked at Legolas -- whose skin seemed ash pale in the flickering firelight -- and he saw the weariness that Legolas tried so hard to conceal. The thin angles of his face surely were sharper than when they had started out from Rivendell, and though the lean form still was deceptively strong and quick, it wasn't quite as straight nor as taut like a strung bow as it had been. Of course, nearly dying was bound to do that, even to someone as hardy as an elf.

    Having heard Sam approach and then stop, Legolas glanced up with a lifted brow. "Sam? Is everything all right?"

    "I was just wondering about you," Sam confessed as he came forward to put the pot in the coals. "You look weary."

    With slow steady strokes, Legolas continued sharpening the blade. He didn't try to claim he was well, Sam noticed. "I was thinking," he said instead, watching his hands. "Of a story."

    Sam made an encouraging sound, hoping that Legolas would continue. He had spoken very little lately, and not told a story in even longer.

    "When I was born," Legolas continued, "my father received a gift from Amroth, who was then king of Lórien. He had received it from the dwarves of Moria -- a child's tunic of mithril mail. It was beautiful -- bright and sparkling like silver, yet light to wear. I wore it only once, when my father and I traveled to a human kingdom. I was quite young, and my father feared for my safety. After I grew, my father intended to trade the tunic to the dwarves in payment for their help with the delving, but I didn't want to give it up. I hoped to make it an heirloom for my child, but," he hesitated for a moment and sighed softly. "I have none. So it gathers dust on the wall of my chamber in my father's halls. Not long ago I realized that the tunic would likely fit a hobbit quite well, if I had thought to bring it with me to Rivendell."

    Sam shook his head, hearing what Legolas was not saying in his story. "It's not your fault, Legolas. You couldn't have prevented Frodo's death. You were on the other side of the room, killing the goblins. I was right there -- Strider was there -- and we couldn't stop it. At least you killed the troll before anyone else died."

    Legolas ran his fingers down the length of the glimmering edge testing for imperfections, and then turned the blade to work on the other edge. "Perhaps. I do not know. Mortal death is not something I understand. Rarely does bodily death come to those who live under the trees of Mirkwood, as perilous as it is there, and even then we know all the Eldar go to the Halls of Waiting in Valinor." 

    For a long moment, the fire crackling and the stone rubbing against the metal blade were the only sounds. In a quiet voice, not looking at Sam at all, Legolas said, "I no longer know my fate. That doubt sticks in my mind like a thorn in my hand, and I cannot escape it."

    Sam frowned, not liking the turn of the conversation at all. "Well, why should it be any different?"

    "Servants of the Shadow are not permitted in Aman."

    "You are _not_ a servant of the Shadow!" Sam retorted immediately. "You're not, Legolas. I know you fear the ring, but don't let that fear make you doubt what we're doing. We're going to destroy it, and _end_ the evil."

    The elf lifted his head to gaze at Sam across the fire, and his lips curled in a sudden smile. "You say that with such confidence."

    Sam glanced away, abashed, but muttered, "Well, one of us has to."

    Legolas let out a peal of laughter and suddenly the evening did not seem as dark. "I stand rebuked, young master Samwise. Indeed, we will destroy the evil of the ring." He slid the sword back into its scabbard and took out his knives to sharpen them as well.

    "Can I ask you something?" Sam asked, suddenly giving into curiosity. "When _were_ you born?"

    Legolas glanced thoughtfully up at the sky. "I do not know what the reckoning of your people would be, if you even have one for those years. It was before the shadow had come to the forest, in the spring of this age when all was bright and green. When the heart of my people was still the mountains, before we went north to dig ourselves a refuge and fortress underground." He glanced at Sam, a smile hovering at his lips again. "I remember when halflings lived in Anduin vale before your people continued westward over the Misty Mountains. I was well past grown then."

    Sam considered this for a time. It was no more than he had suspected, knowing that Elrond had lived through the last war with Sauron, but it was still beyond his comprehension. "Doesn't your head, I don't know, get full of _stuff_ after so many years?"

    Legolas shook his head. "My people do not count days. We only reckon years of the sun to deal with mortals. Much of our lives are the same, season to season, year after year. It all flows together into one river. There are moments I remember, as clearly as I see you now, but I could not tell you how long ago they were. But I know that it was autumn and the light slanted through the leaves like gold..." His voice dwindled and his expression was distant and wistful, looking north as if he could see the forest of his home.

    He returned to stroking the blade of his knife across the stone with a little shake to rouse himself from the memory. "I am glad that I am old enough to know what the forest was like before the poison of Dol Guldur spread northward. When I sleep that is what I remember. When Sauron is gone, my people will cleanse the forest and return to what they were before."

    Sam nodded. "Then that's something to hold onto, isn't it? It's just like Master Elrond said at the Council -- Mordor threatens everybody, from Mirkwood to the Shire." He thought about the Shire for a moment, and felt sympathy for Legolas who remembered his home as a place of peace and beauty, though it hadn't been that way for some two thousand years. At least the Shire was still untouched. "Though it seems to me that your people and Gondor have faced the worst of it."

    "At least Mirkwood and Gondor still stand. And they will stand." Legolas finished with his knives and put them back in their leather sheaths. "But you're right -- that is no little thing to hold to. Here, hand me Sting, and I will check the blade."

    Sam handed the elvish short sword to him, hilt-first, relieved to see that there was no glow to the blade.

    Legolas held it in his hand, admiring its lines in the firelight. "Made in the First Age, if I read the markings correctly. Do you know how Bilbo acquired it?" Legolas asked as he tested the edge.

    Sam nodded. "Of course, it was one of his favorite tales." He added ruefully, "After the dragon, and escaping from your house in a barrel." 

    Legolas flashed a little smirk. "I told Bilbo in Imladris that there are gates in the river now. He would not be able to escape that way today. My father was quite... chagrined to discover such an obvious hole in our security. But go on, Sam, tell me the tale of the finding of Sting."

    As Sam made himself tea with water and a sprig of mint, he told the story, glad that Legolas' spirit seemed lighter, even as he sharpened all their weapons, as if in preparation for a battle to come.

  


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Continued in Chapter 6: Cair Andros 


	6. Cair Andros

**Huinesoron:** Thanks! I suspect if Tolkien had come up with this, Glorfindel would be carrying the ring for one thing, and the story would be both better and a *lot* longer (and I know some people think this one is long enough) {wink}

But never fear, folks, my version is complete. I won't leave you hanging. This chapter marks the half-way point. 

_Disclaimer: Based on 'The Lord of the Rings', by JRR Tolkien. This is a non-commercial work. No infringement of copyright is intended._

"Window of the Sunset" is the fourth in the _Broken Fellowship Series_. It is ** strongly** recommended that you read the previous stories first.  


* * *

  
****

The Broken Fellowship, Book IV:

_Window of the Sunset_

_Chapter 6: Cair Andros_

by Lizardbeth Johnson

  


    Late the next day, Legolas and Sam stood at the edge of the cart track, where it began to dip down to meet the village that was on this side of the bridge of Cair Andros. The two had some cover in the hedges that separated the road from the fields, as they observed the lay of the land.

    Cair Andros gained its name from its northern end that reared up out of the river like the giant prow of a ship. The waters of the river foamed against the stone of the base, creating the illusion that the ship was at sea.

    Or at least so Sam assumed -- he had never seen the sea.

    The crown and prow of the island was covered in old trees with great spreading branches. The rest of the island was a fortress. It had high stone walls, topped with statuary. But, like the Argonath, it was obvious to Sam that most of Cair Andros had been constructed during the height of Gondor's strength and it had been slowly crumbling ever since. Repairs made to the structure were of a different type of stone, where they were made at all, and by far less expert hands than the original builders. There was a small harbor on the east side of the island, Legolas had said, which was where they would need to find a boat, after crossing the bridge.

    The bridge itself was impressive -- a massive white-stone archway, broad enough to carry several horses riding abreast. The village, on the other hand, was of far more recent construction, mixing stone, wood, and brick structures in a haphazard, sprawling settlement at the foot of the bridge.

    Sam knew that Legolas was disturbed that they had found no boats to cross the river before this. But it seemed that the word had gone out to the homes and farms north of this place that the people should get to safety. The buildings were deserted, and personal possessions were largely taken away. They had found only two craft, neither of which were water-capable. No doubt all the useful boats had been piled with luggage and the people had gone down the river to Minas Tirith.

    Yet not all the humans had gone. The closer to Cair Andros they had come, the more of the Big Folk there were, until evading their notice became difficult. Soon they would have to go down into the village and cross the bridge to find a boat, all without Sauron's spies discovering them.

    "At dusk, we will go into the village," Legolas announced with resignation. "Wearing our hoods up and cloaks closed, with luck we should pass for a hunter and his son." With a quick glance down at Sam and a faint smile, he amended his words. "Or perhaps younger brother. No human will believe I am old enough to be a father."

    Sam smiled back. "You're going to have to be dirty, and do something about your ears, in case the hood falls back."

    Legolas wrinkled his nose in distaste. "I know." Then his momentarily humor dimmed and he turned to look down at the village again. "I pray this works, Sam. Or being revealed as an elf or halfling will be the least of the disasters to befall us in this place."

    As soon as the sun had slipped beneath the western horizon, the pair started off down the road. Sam had fluffed his hair around his ears, after Legolas reminded him that human children did not have hobbit-style pointed ears either, and covered his hobbit feet in dirt.

    He glanced up at Legolas, who also had his hood pulled forward and the cloak nearly closed in the front. Under that, the elf had rubbed a light coating of dirt on his face and hands to dull the fair sheen of his skin. He had undone the small braids above his ears to allow his hair to hang down at the sides of his face, and then bound the top of his head and the tips of his ears with the last length of linen, darkened with mud. He had switched his dagger sheaths to his sword belt at his back, beneath his cloak, so the distinctive elvish weapons were hidden. Legolas had also insisted on taking the pack, remarking that a child as small as Sam was supposed to be shouldn't be that strong.

    To Sam, he still looked like an elf doing a bad impression of a human youth, especially since there was nothing to be done about the elvish intensity of his glinting eyes. But Sam hoped it would fool someone who didn't expect to see an elf. Apparently it had been a long time since there had been elves in Gondor.

    As they approached the buildings on the outskirts, Legolas said in a low voice, "You are Perhael, which is your name in Sindarin, and I will be Ernil. Gondor still uses my tongue for many of its people's names."

    "Then why not use --" Sam started, then fell silent as they passed two men talking at the front of a blacksmith's forge. Sam seemed to feel their eyes on his back, like little daggers pricking him. He tensed, wondering when the men were going to come after them, shouting that they were strangers and dangerous spies. When nothing happened, he relaxed only slightly. Softer, he finished his question, "Why not use your own name?"

    "Because I fear my name is now known to the enemy," Legolas murmured back. "We must be cautious." 

    "Oh." Sam shivered beneath his cloak, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the evening's breeze. Bad enough to think that Mordor's spies might know to look for an elf and a hobbit, but to also think that they might even know their names was simply horrible. And Gollum was still out there somewhere, even though Legolas had not mentioned that the creature was nearby since he had left them in the Entwash. 

    Trying to get his mind off those dark thoughts, Sam asked, "So what does 'Ernil' mean?"

    "'Prince.'" Legolas smirked as Sam chuckled, suddenly feeling less anxious. Trust Legolas to come up with a name as equally fitting as Gandalf's "Mister Underhill" for Frodo.

    The road between the houses was hard-packed dirt mixed with small stones, and Sam had to pick his way around horse leavings several times. Though Legolas seemed not to be watching his feet, he never stepped in anything either and continued walking unerringly toward the foot of the bridge.

    There was a smell here, too, Sam noticed. Not as vile as the Entwash, in fact it reminded him of Bree, but not as damp. It probably would not have been awful if Sam had not been walking in the wild for three months, avoiding human habitation. But as it was, he found the scents of smoke, cooking and animals all blended together into a nauseating reek of Big Folk.

    The streets were mostly quiet, and no one they passed seemed to pay the two the least bit of attention. They were not the only ones wearing hooded cloaks as the evening breeze blew chill. 

    Sam glanced up as a creaking noise caught his attention, and he spied the gently swaying sign that indicated an inn. Crossed Swords seemed to be the place everyone was this evening, since when its doors opened, the noise of many men drinking and talking rolled out upon them like an unseen boulder. Sam smelled pungent ale, and for a moment thought wistfully of the Green Dragon and Rosie smiling at him.

    He hadn't realized he had stepped toward the entrance until a strong hand grasped his shoulder and propelled him forward. "You are too young for that, Perhael," Legolas said sharply, loud enough for the two men entering the inn to hear him. They laughed, and Sam flushed, having to bite his tongue on a retort. He hurried after the elf.

    "Sorry," he muttered, knowing Legolas' sharp ears would catch what he said. "Was thinking of home."

    Legolas let go of his shoulder with a gentle squeeze of commiseration, but said nothing.

    There were no guards on the west bank of the bridge, so they walked across, passing a boy who was lighting the lanterns to illuminate the way against the gathering night. The bridge was so large and seemed so stable, it was as if it were carved from one stone. The closest thing Sam could compare it with was the Brandywine bridge, but this one was at least twice as wide, and three times as long.

    At the highest point of the gentle arch, Sam lingered to glance over the side at the rushing, dark waters of the Anduin flowing beneath.

    By the time they reached the end of the bridge, the stone of the high walls of the gate of Cair Andros had been painted a brilliant orange and the sky remained bright enough to somewhat dazzle the eyes of the guards.

    There were only two, and both had long since seen the two approaching slowly. They both wore a small white tree sigil on their cloak clasps. "Who are you," the elder of the two challenged, "And what would you want here?"

    Despite their words, and the swords they carried and the chainmail peeking out from under their surcoats, Sam had the distinct impression that the two men were not looking for trouble.

    "I am Ernil," Legolas said, pitching his voice slightly deeper and hoarser than usual. "And this is my brother. We have come from hunting in the west. We seek word of our father, who serves with the Rangers."

    Sam stayed quietly within the hood of his cloak, though he frowned at the lie. These were men of Gondor, allies -- even knowing it was dangerous, he felt it was wrong to lie to them.

    The younger guard with the scrubbly beard smiled. "The Rangers, hm? They all crossed through here into Ithilien only five days ago."

    "Have you heard from them since?" Legolas asked.

    "No, not that I've heard." the elder man answered. "Sorry, lads."

    Sam smiled -- little did they know that one of those the man was calling a lad was probably as old as the bridge on which they were all standing. And Sam himself was well past the age of 'lad' as well.

    "But I heard that the captain's rangers intended to harry the enemy," the younger guard volunteered. "There's been much traffic around Mordor lately."

    "So that was why the farms on the way here were all evacuated," Legolas said.

    "A month ago, on Captain Faramir's orders," the older guard explained. He frowned at the bow Legolas was holding in his hand, casually at his side. "That's an interesting weapon. I've never seen its like."

    "My father's family gave it to me," Legolas answered with not a hint of a smile. "It is very old. They say it was a gift to my ancestors from the elves."

    "It just might be. Can I see it?" The older guard took it into his hands reverently, feeling the carving of the wood and then gripping it properly in his left hand. He fingered the string with his right. Surprised by the tension, he glanced up and down at Legolas' cloaked, but still obviously slim, form. "You've got some strength in you, lad, if you can pull this. You any good?"

    Willing to play along, Sam volunteered in a somewhat high, eager voice, "He's the best archer in the north."

    Legolas casually cuffed his shoulder, as an older brother would. "He exaggerates, but I am good. I have been practicing. I want to be a Ranger, like my father," he declared. Sam suffered a coughing fit, trying not to laugh and imagining what Aragorn would say if he heard that.

    The two guards exchanged a glance. "Well," the older one said, "the Powers know we may need all the archers we can get pretty soon. Why don't you go on up to the captain in the tower and tell him what you've told us? If you really are a fair hand with this," he handed the bow back to Legolas, "then he might be willing to give you the oath. And he may know more about the rangers."

    "Thank you," Legolas inclined his head. "Perhael, come."

    He and Sam passed the guards and when they were halfway through the torch-lit passage in the wall, the older guard called, "Hey, lad -- Ernil! What is your father's name?"

    Legolas half turned to look back over his shoulder. The fading sunlight penetrated the hood and caught his eyes, lighting them too oddly vibrant to be human. 

    "What the –" the younger guard stepped forward a pace, frowning, and put a hand on the hilt of his sword. "What are you?"

    And so the sun revealed what it should not, and Sam and Legolas' entry to Cair Andros turned complicated.

    Rather too cheerfully, Legolas called back in answer, "Dírhael!" He lifted a hand in farewell to the guards and none too gently prodded Sam forward with his other hand. In a harsh whisper he ordered, "Go, quickly."

    The elder guard's puzzled voice trailed behind them. "But there is none by that name with the rangers... Hold! Stop, Ernil! We must question you --"

    Legolas shoved Sam around the next corner. "Run!" He pushed Sam again and they started to run.

    The paved passage was only about five paces wide, with high stone walls on either side, as a part of the concentric double wall design of the fortifications. There were no breaks in the inner wall, and they passed a set of stairs leading to the top of the outer wall.

    Behind them, a horn blew three warning blasts.

    "Now you've done it," Sam puffed. "What name was that you gave them anyway?"

    "Aragorn's grandfather's name. It is common among humans, so I thought there might be one. Stay close to the outer wall, Sam."

    Sam understood why and veered nearer the wall. There did not appear to be guards on the inner wall, at least not yet. He and Legolas would be difficult to see by the guards directly above them, when they flitted through the deepening shadows of the outer wall.

    The path curved again to the left, this time with an opening to the inner courtyard. Legolas abruptly stopped and pulled Sam down into a crouch beside him, against the wall. Moments later, Sam also heard the stomp of boots coming from the inner areas through the portal gate. The men separated, some going up on the outer wall through the staircase, some going down the passage, and three coming toward them.

    "Look for intruders. Two of them," the leader ordered and ran up the stairs to the outer wall.

    Sam froze against the wall, not daring to breathe as the men approached. His heart was pounding, and his throat was dry as the stone at his back. Though somewhat hidden in the shadows, the men were coming right at them. How could they not see the pair? Any moment, Sam expected one of the three to shout and point, drawing a sword.

    But the men's gazes passed over them, as if there was nothing there, and they continued back toward the bridge gate around the corner and out of view. 

    He let out a quiet breath of relief, aware they were not yet out of danger. But he didn't understand how they had escaped detection.

    Legolas leaned close and murmured so softly Sam could barely hear him, "Be silent. If you hear anything, let your cloak cover you."

    He nodded, now understanding that it was the cloak that had hid them. He fingered the soft cloth briefly in wonder, remembering how Celeborn had told them that the cloaks would shield them from unfriendly eyes. Apparently the elvish 'magic' worked even on those whose eyes should be friendly.

    As softly as he could, he followed Legolas, as they crept forward against the wall. Legolas carried his bow tight to his body across his chest, in the pose Sam had always thought seemed oddly maternal. But here it was so no stray gleam of light would catch the light wood as the sky darkened with the onset of night.

    Legolas halted twice, once as men walked past on the wall above them and a second time when guards ran up from behind, still searching for the intruders. Again, it frightened Sam, but the cloaks protected them from view, as they crouched in the shadows.

    Sam followed Legolas slowly as they rounded another curve and Legolas halted again. Sam crept close behind him and peered around.

    They had found another gate in the outer wall. There were few shadows ahead, since bright torches cast their light broadly, from their brackets on either side of the tunnel of stone. There were two armored guards there, standing alertly with their hands on the hilt of their swords. About twenty paces of wide-open, unshadowed ground lay between, and Sam eyed the distance with some despair. Not even elvish cloaks could hide that much movement.

    Legolas certainly knew as much, and when he shifted position slightly, Sam glanced up at him to see the elf fingering his bow-string. Sam's eyes widened and he jerked Legolas' sleeve, shaking his head in dismay. They couldn't kill their allies. Legolas touched the hooded top of Sam's head in acknowledgement then bent down to murmur in a voice no human could have caught.

    "Stay here. Be ready." Legolas eased the straps of the pack from his shoulders and set it on the ground with scarcely a whisper of noise.

    Sam couldn't breathe as Legolas moved away. His footsteps made no sound as he began to work his way along the wall toward the gate. Sam watched, heart in his throat, as it seemed that Legolas shone in the light and moved so quickly he ought to draw attention. But his movements were smooth, like the wind through the leaves.. 

    After a moment, even Sam's eyes had trouble following him, as though the torch-light was shining through him.

    Abruptly, he was _there_, in front of the first guard and had one hand extended to strike one in the side of his head. He went down like a sack of grain. The other guard had time for a strangled cry, before Legolas was on him as well, elbow in his throat so the guard sank to his knees, unable to breathe. Legolas finished him off with a blow from the palm of his hand, which slammed the man's head into the stone wall behind him. He did not move.

    Sam's eyes widened. He had never known that Legolas could fight without weapons. The two humans had not managed to return a single blow.

    Legolas turned and gestured Sam to come. Grabbing the pack, Sam ran across to him. Legolas grabbed a torch from its bracket, and together they raced through the gate tunnel. It was about eight paces high and had plain whitewashed walls, except for the openings in the ceiling.

    Sam eyed those warily, knowing there were also guards on the walls and probably standing up there somewhere, though he didn't hear anything. The guards could shoot arrows out of those openings, if they knew their invaders were below.

    On the other side, Legolas stuck the torch into a bracket and light flooded what Sam realized was a small harbor. They had found the mooring for the few boats used by Gondor to cross the Anduin to the Mordor side. Water lapped gently at the walkway and the wooden mooring posts that went around in a semi-circle here at the southern tip of the island. There were at least three boats, quietly bobbing in the water, tied up to the posts.

    But the boats were used for things other than merely transporting soldiers to Mordor. Sam saw a pile of nets along the wall as well as small cages with chains attached which looked like traps for some sort of other water animal. The whole place smelled of damp, rotten fish, and more faintly of a sharper, more acrid scent that Sam couldn't quite identify.

    "Find us a boat," Legolas ordered. "I'm going to block the way."

    For an instant, Sam watched in confusion as Legolas put his bow over his shoulder and seized a small barrel next to the nets. He carried the barrel over to the tunnel and, taking out a knife, began to pry at the top. 

    Legolas glanced over his shoulder. "Sam, go!"

    Though he wanted to watch and try to figure out what Legolas was doing, Sam turned away and went to the nearest boat. It was a small craft, about six paces long, capable of holding several men. Made of planks of rough wood, it had none of the gracefulness of the elvish boats the Fellowship had used to travel the river. It reminded Sam more of the boats on the Brandywine -- good serviceable craft made by human or hobbit hands, not with the attention to beauty of the elves.

    Sam was about to put his pack in the boat, when he hesitated and squinted, sure his eyes were playing tricks on him in the unsteady flame of the torch. But the longer he looked, the more sure he became. He turned sharply, and called -- remembering to keep his voice down in the nick of time -- "Legolas! That boat! It's one of the Lothlórien ones."

    Legolas paused in what he was doing, which seemed to be pouring a honey-like substance from the barrel onto the ground at the mouth of the tunnel, and turned to look where Sam was pointing. His smile was so quick it might have been a trick of the light as well. "Good. That one."

    Nodding his understanding, Sam rushed with the pack to where the small elven boat was tied at the end of the line, close to where the wall crept out to narrow the harbor entrance. He checked to make sure there was a set of paddles, which there were, and then dumped the pack inside. He carefully clambered in the boat, and it settled slightly lower in the water.

    He stroked the rim affectionately. This was the same boat which had carried him and Aragorn -- he could tell by the mark along the side where a goblin arrow had struck.

    Peering over the edge, he saw Legolas approaching. The elf was holding two arrows in one hand and the torch in the other.

    Legolas' mouth was set in grim satisfaction that lightened somewhat when he saw the boat. He murmured to it in elvish as he climbed in and stood in the center. "Here, hold this," he handed the torch to Sam, who knelt in the prow of the little boat.

    "What are you going to do?" Sam asked, frowning up at him. But Legolas didn't answer -- at that moment, on the other side of the tunnel, they heard a voice shout, 

    "Intruders! The intruders have gained the harbor!"

    "Stand still," Legolas requested, taking his bow off his shoulder. He then set both of his arrows very carefully to the torch's fire, and the ends, from which Legolas had removed the metal heads, burst into flame.

    Sam suddenly understood what had been in the barrel and what Legolas was going to do. The hobbit cut the last rope binding the ship to the mooring and they began to slowly drift backward, toward the entrance.

    Legolas set both arrows to the string, pulled his bow and waited until he heard boots in the tunnel. He released and the flaming arrows arched across the harbor to land perfectly at the mouth of the tunnel.

    The contents of the barrel of pitch exploded in a flash of fire that filled the entire tunnel. They heard shouts of alarm over the sound of the crackling flames as the men realized they couldn't pass that way.

    Legolas threw the torch into the water where it hissed before winking out, leaving the small harbor lit only by the light of the stars and a three-quarter moon. "Give me the paddles," he requested, and Sam handed them to him.

    The paddles dipped into the water swiftly, as Legolas maneuvered their sleek craft toward the narrow harbor mouth, with his head turned to look over his shoulder as he rowed.

    They had almost reached the opening, when Sam spotted men with torches running along the top of the walls on both sides, converging on them. But would the men get there first, or would the boat?

    "Soldiers," he warned Legolas, who nodded. Sam held tightly to Sting with one hand, knowing it was futile. The sword would not avail him if the men fired arrows at them.

    "Archers!" one of the guards bellowed the order. "Fire!"

    Sam ducked, hoping that the sides of the boat would protect him as he heard bow-strings twang. That flight of arrows fell short, splashing into the water. Legolas did not stop rowing, grimly racing the men for the entrance as the distance between the two narrowed.

    "Again!" came the command. One arrow bit the side of the boat with a thump, that made Sam's heart jump into his throat, then another. Several more splashed into the water. And still Legolas rowed -- they were between the ends of the walls now, with open river before them.

    Another arrow launched, from the only man fast enough to run to the end of the wall, and anchor his draw in time.

    Legolas whipped the paddle out of the water, and the arrow struck it, on course for his body. He looked up, and his hood fell back.

    In the light from the moon, his face seemed to glow, beneath the mask of the dirt, and his eyes shimmered.

    The archer's draw relaxed and his mouth opened in awe as he stared down into the boat.

    "Shoot!" his leader commanded, running up. "Get them!"

    "Sir, that's a -- I think that's an elf," the archer responded, sounding confused yet full of wonder all at the same time.

    "Hold your fire!" the leader ordered after a moment in which he too peered over the parapet.

    Legolas called back, "_Hanno le_, Captain. A warning to you: dark things move tonight -- be wary of more than elves who seek to travel in secret." 

    Legolas returned the paddles to the water, and the boat glided out beyond their reach. Not another arrow fell. 

    The last thing Sam saw of Cair Andros were a handful of men standing on the parapet, their armor gleaming by torch-light and moonlight, staring after their mysterious elvish visitor.

    The hobbit leaned back with a sigh of relief. They were away and safe, and best of all, none of their allies had been killed. The Gondorians had proven themselves friendly to elves by letting them go.

    "That wasn't so bad," he commented. "Maybe we should have told them. I think they would've helped us."

    Legolas did not seem as pleased and shook his head. "I should have liked to slip past unnoticed. But there is nothing to be done for it now." He drew his hood forward again as he rowed, making for the bank as quickly as possible.

  


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Continued in Chapter 7: In the Wood of Ithilien 


	7. In the Wood of Ithilien

_Disclaimer: Based on 'The Lord of the Rings', by JRR Tolkien. This is a non-commercial work. No infringement of copyright is intended._

"Window of the Sunset" is the fourth in the _Broken Fellowship Series_. It is ** strongly** recommended that you read the previous stories first.  


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The Broken Fellowship, Book IV:

_Window of the Sunset_

_Chapter 7: In the Wood of Ithilien_

by Lizardbeth Johnson

  


    Legolas was feeling a bit better now that the river and open air were around him, instead of stone walls. As one of the green-elves, he was never comfortable in high walls, especially those built by men, which made him feel as though he could not quite catch his breath. But being on the water gave him the sense of openness, and he could feel the desire of the river to run all the way to the mouth of the Anduin and into the great western ocean.

    Across the ocean was Aman, where dwelt the rest of his kin and the Valar. There, there were no shadows, no darkness -- only beauty and peace and joy for eternity.

    Suddenly, a great feeling arose in his heart -- a desire to continue down the river to the sea and sail West. To be finally at peace. To rest.

    Though he knew it was impossible at this distance, he seemed to hear the crash of waves and distant voices raised in song across the water. There was a tinge of salt to the moisture in the breeze, and the smell of the sea.

    He had never before understood the sea-longing that took his people from time to time -- less so among the green-elves than their western kin, and yet still a few each year crossed the mountains to make the journey to the Havens. Long ago, before the desertion of Edhellond at the Bay of Belfalas, some of his people had taken the great river all the way to its end to sail the great white ships of the elven port. But now he understood. His entire spirit and being wanted to continue south to find the sea.

    A sharp piercing cold radiated up his left hand to his arm and shoulder, lodging in his heart. He gasped with the pain of it, nearly dropping the paddle in the river. He could no longer hear the sea above the sudden, frightened pounding of his heart. The ring did not want to go over the sea.

    He had the sudden curious thought about what would happen if he brought the ring to Valinor. Surely great Aulë, who had once been Sauron's master, could unmake the ring? The idea had not been broached either at the council in Imladris or among the elves in Lothlórien, which told Legolas that there was a problem with that idea, but he did not have the wisdom to see it.

    He shook his head once briskly, to clear the idea away. The sea was not his destination, and he had a quest to finish before he could even consider taking the Straight Road to the west. Tightening his jaw, he renewed pulling the boat to shore.

    He rowed, aiming the boat into a soft shallow inlet, until the prow ground against the bank. Leaping into the water, he pulled the boat farther up onto land so that Sam could get out. As soon as the hobbit and the pack were out, he pushed the boat back out into the water. "Thank you, my friend," he murmured to it and stroked the side. "Now be free, and find the waves. Farewell." He let go, and for a moment, as he watched, a new grief seemed to pierce his heart, as he wondered if he might be saying farewell to all things of his people.

    But resolutely he turned away and joined Sam at the top of the bank. "This is Ithilien," he murmured to the hobbit. "Although Gondor still claims it, it is a wild and fallen land, touched by the Shadow. We must be on our guard."

    Both turned by tacit agreement to look eastward, though the trees would have blocked any view of the crags of Ephel Dúath, even in daylight. By the watery light of the moon, there was nothing at all to see, yet the feeling of those mountains loomed on Legolas' senses.

    The ring wanted to go that way -- for almost directly east of where he was standing, on the other side of the mountains in the north end of the plain of Gorgoroth, stood the Barad-dûr.

    The Dark Fortress of Sauron ... from which even now he could distantly feel the Eye searching, always searching, sweeping across his skin like a distant cold breeze that promised a darker storm to come. Sauron knew the ring was coming nearer as well, and the ring hung about Legolas' neck like a stone.

    "We climb east -- all of Ithilien falls to the river, but closer to the mountains is an old road to make the journey to the crossroads easier," he explained. "We must get away from the river."

    As they walked, Sam frowned up at him. "When you warned the captain of Cair Andros, what did you mean about 'dark things'?"

    "There is no lack of darkness, Samwise," he said, "I meant nothing in particular."

    But what he said was not quite true. There were dark things abroad tonight -- he felt the oily taint of Gollum, not far, but he did not want Sam to know about it yet. He had promised to take care of Gollum, and so he would. Sam needed to be safe.

    "This was once a fair land," he brushed a hand idly across the leaves of the brushy scrub oak as he passed. When it had been abandoned by Gondor, the sway of darkness had fallen over it. There had been no elves here to combat the fell influence -- and yet, unlike his own home, this land did not suffer from Sauron's direct touch here. The echoes of what had been were still strong enough to resist, and he could feel the wild beauty that lurked beneath the surface.

    But he suspected that the influence would strengthen as they drew nearer to Minas Morgul. The Ringwraiths had been within the fortress for a thousand years, and their foul influence had surely spread. Boromir had spoken of the sense of creeping evil when one came close to it. Legolas thought it must be like approaching Dol Guldur on his occasional scouting trips to the south of Mirkwood.

    There was a gentle but distinct slope to the land upward to the east as they walked and soon he noticed that Sam was lagging tiredly. It had been, Legolas supposed, a long day. He began to look for a place to camp for what remained of the night and into the morning. There was a good place within a steeply sided, wooded narrow defile, at the base of a high, thin waterfall where the water pooled for a little space before falling again to join the river.

    The bank beside the pool was sheltered by fragrant cedars and bay trees, and carpeted by dark green clover with small white flowers.

    "We're stopping?" Sam asked, trying not to sound relieved, but when Legolas agreed, Sam let down his pack with a weary sigh. "Thank you."

    Legolas felt a sudden thread of vileness creep across his skin, and he raised his gaze to peer into the darkness. Close. Gollum had been trailing them since the river, and he had now come very close.

    "I'll gather wood," Legolas offered and hoped Sam didn't notice that he was taking his full complement of weapons with him as he moved into the trees. He was not really intending to gather firewood, but to hunt.

    He could no longer permit evil to dog his footsteps. He could barely eat, and could get no rest while he had to watch for Gollum's next attack. No more, he vowed to himself.

    He continued through the trees, slipping past the brush, on the thin trail only he could sense.

    The taint of Gollum rose, like a foul oil, so strong that he nearly coughed. He hesitated at the edge of a dark hollow, all ringed by dark junipers and low shrubs unknown to Legolas, and he carefully looked around for the gleaming pale figure of Gollum nearby. Even his sharp eyes spied nothing, but he knew Gollum was there.

    "I feel you, Gollum," he whispered. "I know you are near." His hand tightened on his bow, quivering with eagerness.

    "Precious," an answering whisper came out of the shadows. "What iss bright master elf doing, Precious? Why does he seek poor Gollum? Will he gives us our Precious?"

    "Never. The Ring is mine," Legolas hissed, anger coiling deep and dark in his heart. "And it will never belong to you, murderous thief."

    "Thief, he calls us?" A rustling of leaves and branches, though faint, came to his ears and Legolas turned to see Gollum creep out from beneath an overgrown thyme bush. His eyes gleamed with a pale sickly green light of pure malice. "Nasty hobbits and elveses stole it from us."

    Legolas reached under the neck of his overtunic and fished out the ring so it glinted on his chest. "If you want it, then come and take it."

    Gollum's eyes followed the small gold ring on its chain as it swung left and right. He licked his lips and his fingers clenched into the dirt next to his feet, wanting to come take it but too wary and cunning to fall for Legolas' simple ploy.

    "Tricksy elf hurts us again with bright knife," he muttered. But his eyes couldn't tear themselves away from the ring. "No," Gollum let out a long hiss. "Master elf tricks us -- precious says - wait."

    He started to reluctantly withdraw back into the deeper shadows beneath the shrub.

    Gollum would not escape so easily. Not this time. 

    Legolas whipped an arrow out of his quiver and had it drawn and anchored in an eye-blink.

    But there, he hesitated briefly, holding his target steady.

    A voice came out of memory -- Gandalf's voice it was, speaking not to him, but overheard in the caverns of Moria, "_Many things that live deserve death, and many things that die deserve life. Would you give it to them? Do not be so quick to deal out death and judgment. Even the very wise cannot see all ends..._"

    It was almost as though Gandalf were there, speaking the words to him. Legolas stayed his hand, holding his bow at full draw.

    His heart beat once. Then twice, as he hesitated.

    Gollum had almost vanished into the shadows. He was going to escape, to return to shadowing Legolas' footsteps until he finally made a move on the ring. He would, eventually, Legolas knew, and if Legolas were weary enough or distracted enough, Gollum might succeed in taking the ring. That was not to be endured. 

    _I'm sorry, Gandalf. But there is no other end possible. _

    He loosed. The arrow flew fast and true, striking Gollum in the side, beneath his arm. He let out a startled gurgle and fell over in the leaves, groaning.

    The feel of the taint dwindled away, leaving only a small creature whimpering in pain. Legolas lowered his bow slowly, his anger likewise diminishing until he was left with a hollow heart and the distant awareness of cold triumph from the ring.

    "What have I done?" he whispered in shocked horror and for a moment glanced down at his hands as if they had acted alone, without his prompting. But he knew he had done it -- cut Gollum down with less mercy than he would show a deer in the hunt. Again the ring had taken control of his anger and brought him to murder.

    In a daze he walked closer.

    Gollum turned over, his near hand grabbing a tuft of long grass. His great eyes were like the moon, liquid and pure. "Master," he gurgled. "Master, why hurt poor Sméagol?"

    Legolas sank down beside him. Sméagol it was, indeed. And Sméagol was a pitiable creature -- looking at him now, Legolas could see only the thin, ancient remnant of someone who used to be very like a hobbit. The evil of the ring was, at least in that moment, gone from him.

    Sméagol blinked and coughed. "Forgive, master, forgive poor Sméagol," he pleaded hoarsely and his hand waved vaguely in Legolas' direction.

    The elf gently clasped the skeletal fingers in his own. "I am sorry, Sméagol," he murmured. "I wish none of this had come to pass. I pray the Valar grant you peace."

    The corners of the wide, thin lips turned up in a soft smile. "Sméagol is free," he whispered, the light in his eyes now simply a sheen of surprised joy. "Free... Thank you, Master Elf."

    Legolas could find nothing more to say, merely kneel at Sméagol's side and watch him die.

    Suddenly Sméagol's hand tightened on his and he spoke with sudden hoarse urgency. "Master -- the path -- master must not climb the pass --" He tried to speak more but his breath failed him. He choked a little and moments later let out a final sigh, as his fingers loosened their grip.

    Sméagol was dead.

    Legolas reached across to gently close the staring eyes and for a moment more knelt beside the body. "Farewell, Sméagol," he murmured. "Find peace."

    He arranged the limbs into something more formal, pulled out his arrow, and stood for a moment at a loss for what else to do. He couldn't bury him without tools, and couldn't burn him without bringing enemies upon them.

    Finally, he decided simply to leave him. Nature would take its course, after being thwarted for centuries by the unnatural lifespan given to Gollum.

    At the edge of the hollow he turned back to see Sméagol lying there, looking at peace for the first time in Legolas' memory. "_Namarië_, Sméagol of the River Folk. Go, and be with your people at long last. As I never shall."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    When Legolas returned to camp, Sam knew something had happened. Not only was the elf carrying no wood, but he was carrying one of his arrows, this one tipped in red blood. Without a word he walked straight up to the small fire and dropped the arrow into the flames. He stood there, looming above the fire, with his gaze fixed downward. 

    When the wooden shaft was completely consumed, Sam ventured, "Legolas? What is it?"

    Without turning his glance from the fire, Legolas answered, "Gollum is dead."

    And with the arrow now turning to ash, it was obvious who had killed him and how. Sam opened his mouth to speak then closed it again, realizing he didn't know what to say. He wasn't sorry Gollum was dead, but he was sorry for how it had affected his friend.

    "Was there no other way?" he finally asked, in a small voice.

    Legolas shook his head once, slowly. "I do not know. It ... frightens me," he admitted very quietly. "Was it my will, or the ring? I should be stronger than this." His hands clenched into fists at his sides, pressing against his legs. "I am of the Eldar, who never have served evil willingly. I am of the blood of Oropher who saw the evil that lay beneath the fair-seeming form of Annatar in the last age and rejected him. And I am the son of Thranduil, whose power has kept the evil of Dol Guldur at bay for two thousand years. Why then am I so weak?" he whispered, casting eyes filled with dark despair up at the cloud-shrouded night. "Why is it so hard to resist?"

    Sam was not entirely sure that Legolas was truly speaking to him, but he swallowed and answered anyway, "Perhaps you expect too much of yourself. You do resist, Legolas. I'm sure it's hard, and maybe you falter once in a while, but the ring doesn't hold you. I don't think you would be mourning Gollum's death if it held you as tightly as you think it does."

    Legolas shook his head once. "It does hold me," he whispered. "It has held me since the day I put it on to combat the Balrog. I grasp the light, but each day I know that I am slipping. What if I should fall? What if I am too weak?" With one decisive motion, he stripped the ring on its chain from around his neck to hold it out to Sam. "Here, take it, Sam."

    Sam leaned back, away from it. Legolas' right hand was shaking, holding the chain, and his left hand was tucked tightly against his body. "No," Sam shook his head. "I won't."

    "You promised -- " Legolas reminded him.

    "I promised to take it if the ring took hold of you," Sam interrupted. "But it hasn't. It's despair that I see, the same despair that took you that time you confronted the Nazgûl by the river. But I didn't take it then, and I won't take it now. Put it back on, and sit down. Now that Gollum's gone, you can rest. Don't think I missed that you haven't slept since we got away from the snakes."

    With slow movements as though sleep-walking, Legolas put the ring back around his neck and folded himself to sit beside the fire. He rubbed at his damaged hand absently. "I am weary," he admitted. "The burden is heavy."

    "Then sit there, I'll collect some more wood and boil some water for some tea. This place is full of overgrown herbs of all kinds."

    "Ithilien was once called the garden of Gondor," Legolas murmured, and he cocked his head a bit to one side as though listening to something far distant. "It was only in the year of the dragon's fall that the Dark Lord settled in Mordor, so the Shadow as yet lightly lies on the wood." Then he seemed to realize what Sam had said and turned his gaze on Sam, frowning in concern. "Do not wander far, Sam. I sense no particular threat to us, but these woods are not wholly abandoned."

    "I'll be careful," Sam promised. At the cedars, he glanced back. He knew that for Legolas to admit he was weary, the elf was likely exhausted. And worse, his heart was full of bleak despair.

    Sam touched the trunk of a high, proud bay tree, and pulled down a branch to sniff at the fragrance of its leaves. He smiled slightly to himself, feeling better. Legolas' mood always improved around trees, too It would probably not be long until Legolas' strength and determination returned. Until then he just needed his hobbit companion to do his best to cheer him up.

    The smile faded from Sam's face not twenty steps later when he moved into a clearing and discovered a sign of the enemy. Three trees had been wantonly hacked down and left to rot, their trunks carved with symbols including the lidless eye of Sauron. The sight made him shiver, and he was careful to take only unmarked branches back to camp. Legolas could probably read the symbols, and it would darken his spirit further just to see them.

    Sam built the fire until it crackled cheerfully, careful not to put on any damp wood that would smoke, and did not tell Legolas what he had seen.

    Trying to get the elf to smile, Sam sang a drinking song that he had last heard at the Green Dragon. It felt like a victory when Legolas' lips quirked upward briefly, more in gratitude for what Sam was trying to do than in genuine amusement, but Sam figured it was better than nothing.

    "Get some sleep, Sam," Legolas urged him afterward. "We are as safe as we are likely to be for quite awhile."

    "As long as you sleep too."

    "I will," Legolas promised.

    Whether or not he actually did, Sam never knew. But when he woke in the morning to the sound of several birds having some sort of loud dispute, Legolas was already up.

    It took Sam a moment to find him, but it wasn't difficult. Legolas was in the pool, the waterfall streaming on his head.

    Sam shivered in reflex, just considering what Legolas was doing. He had washed his hands and face in that pool and he knew how icy-cold it was. But there was Legolas, swimming in it as though it was the mill pond of Hobbiton in mid-summer. Not that it was a surprise, since the elf had always been fastidious, sneaking away from the Fellowship to bathe in snow-melt. That ability to wash even in near-freezing water, combined with the fact that dirt just didn't seem to _like_ him, meant he had been the envy of the whole company, never showing the rigors of the journey.

    Now, watching Legolas comb the mud from his hair beneath the waterfall, Sam just had to smile. No, Legolas was certainly not one to allow a little thing like a useless disguise get in the way of being clean.

    His smile broadened when he saw that Legolas had left him two small fish on the edge of the pool.

    While he cleaned the fish and heated his fry pan for breakfast, he became aware of a soft sound, meandering in counter-point to the noise of the water. His hands stilled as he listened, not sure he was really hearing it.

    Yet he was. For the first time since entering Moria, Legolas was singing. Soft yet soaring, sweet as a bird greeting the dawn, his voice darted from low to high and back again, barely loud enough for Sam to catch. He found himself wishing the fire and the water would stop so he could hear it better.

    The raucous birds fell quiet to listen to a voice that sang of light passing through the leaves and a warm breeze stirring the spring blossoms.

    Sam could have sworn that there were more flowers open in the wake of the song.

    While Sam was eating his fish, Legolas finished and came out of the water. He was still wearing the chain with the ring, Sam noticed with a touch of dismay. He dressed and collected his weapons from where he had left them by the side of the pool, before joining Sam by the fire.

    Sam lifted his brows at his friend. "You're in a good mood this morning."

    "It is spring," Legolas said as though that explained everything. Perhaps, for an elf, it did. Then, more seriously, Legolas answered with a glance eastward, "Sometimes it is best to fight the darkness with weapons of one's own."

    "It was lovely to hear you sing," Sam said. "You should do it more often. Makes me feel better."

    Legolas finished braiding back his hair and swept the damp strands behind his shoulders. He smiled slightly. "Perhaps later. For now, though, we must continue, Sam. The road calls."

    It was the work of little moment to re-pack while Legolas doused the fire and erased all trace of their presence.

    Sam glanced back at the edge of the trees. There was now nothing to show that anyone had ever been there, and yet somehow it remained changed. The colors of the plants seemed more vibrant, and the sunlight dappling the pool's surface was brighter. Sam remembered what Legolas had said weeks ago while passing through the ancient elven lands of Hollin, that the land never forgot elves.

    This small pool would never forget its visitor either, even after all of Ithilien lay under a cloak of darkness.

    Sam followed Legolas up the slope, ever eastward toward the looming mountains. By mid-morning, they had found the road. 

    Much like the road that had gone south from the Pendrath Forn, this road was also the work of ancient Gondor. Though now fallen into ruin, the stonework crumbled away to nothing, and the path diminished to a track, still the course was level as it drove through ridges as though cut with a knife.

    Legolas led the way along the eastern edge of the road but only for a few minutes before pausing. Abruptly he turned and pushed through the bracken at the side of the road. "Off the road, Sam."

    Sam followed, scrambling up to the top of the rim, where he paused to catch his breath. "What is it?"

    Legolas shook his head, frowning and glanced down at the empty roadway. "I am not certain. I felt the ground tremble in warning." He shook it off. "Come, we must go. I do not like this place."

    Sam thought longingly of the road as they turned their feet again south. Great stands of brush seemed to grow in their path to thwart them, and Sam grew swiftly weary of evading clumps of sharp nettles and wild briars. But still, he thought they were making decent time, and the heat of the noonday sun was pleasant after so long traveling in the dark and cold.

    A woodland sparrow trilled, and it made Sam realize how quiet the forest was. That was the first birdcall he had heard in awhile.

    Ahead of him, Sam saw Legolas suddenly halt, and he did the same immediately. Though he heard nothing, Sam had depended on Legolas' keener senses for some time, and he trusted them completely. Legolas peered intently to his right through the thin trees and scrub. Sam followed his gaze down the slope and saw nothing, but he did not move.

    The elf stepped toward him and murmured in his ear, "That was no bird. There are humans in the brush above the road."

    "Who are they?" Sam whispered.

    Legolas shook his head slightly. "They are in concealment, but from whom they hide I do not know. If we go quietly, we should avoid them."

    Sam nodded and they continued their previous course, but more slowly so Sam could walk softly and Legolas could listen and watch for enemies.

    They kept to a path that wound between low bushes, and if Sam hadn't been directly behind Legolas, he doubted he could have seen the elf at all. His own skills at concealment were not as good, but he trusted to what Legolas had said, which was that Big Folk rarely would think of movement at such a low level as being anything but an animal. The two crept slowly southward, avoiding the places where Legolas thought there were people.

    Sam felt his skin prickle. Ithilien was too silent, and it seemed the whole forest was poised with waiting.

    The repeated, low bleating of a brown partridge was as loud and obvious to Sam as a horn. It was another signal from the hidden watchers.

    Legolas stopped again and his head came up, listening. Then he took hold of Sam's shoulder and propelled him to the shelter of a thicket of thyme. "Something is about to happen," he whispered. "Be still."

    "What is it?" Sam whispered.

    "An army, on the road below," Legolas answered. "I must see. Stay here, Sam."

    Sam watched him until he disappeared beneath the trees in the dappled shadows to the south, feeling frustrated. He wanted to see it too. An army. What sort of army? Whose army?

    After a moment, he heard it too. A heavy rumbling sound that as it grew closer became the marching of hundreds, maybe thousands, of booted feet. The twang and hiss of many arrows launching from bows. Then there was another sound, a loud trumpeting that sounded like some sort of immense animal, and the orderly marching sound dissolved into random noise, horns, and yells.

    Without really thinking, he rushed after Legolas to see what was going on. He threw himself behind a log at the edge of the ridge overlooking the roadway and his eyes widened in amazement. Towering above the men on the valley floor, were two giant creatures. He stared in awed delight, recognizing the creatures from storybooks. Oliphaunts.

    One was in a clear panic, trampling the soldiers below, as they milled around in helpless confusion. Arrows sprang out in flights from the ridge to either side of Sam, felling more of the soldiers below. He saw the standard of the army down there, and knew it wasn't Gondor's, though he didn't know whose it was. That suggested the army was probably one of Mordor's allies, marching north to the Morannon.

    The soldiers below began to get themselves into some order and a company was dispatched into the eastern hills to pursue their attackers. Sam realized he had better go back and find his friend, before the entire ridge was swarming with soldiers. He started squirming backward, keeping his head down, until a boot came down on his back. He froze.

    "Well, what have we here?" a voice asked curiously.

    Sam's heart sank -- it wasn't Legolas speaking. One of the others had found him.

  


* * *

_Namarië_ = 'Farewell'. (Quenya) Continued in Chapter 8: Henneth Annûn 


	8. Henneth Annûn

_Disclaimer: Based on 'The Lord of the Rings', by JRR Tolkien. This is a non-commercial work. No infringement of copyright is intended._

"Window of the Sunset" is the fourth in the _Broken Fellowship Series_. It is ** strongly** recommended that you read the previous stories first.  


* * *

  
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The Broken Fellowship, Book IV:

_Window of the Sunset_

_Chapter 8: Henneth Annûn_

by Lizardbeth Johnson

  


    At first, Sam was frozen still, like a rabbit once an eagle's claws had grabbed it. He had no idea who had found him, whether friend or enemy, if he had any friends other than Legolas here.

    "What are you?" the man asked.

    That did it. Sam turned over, incensed. "What do you mean, 'what am I?' Haven't you ever seen a hobbit before?" He saw a man wearing a brownish cloak with a black scarf across his face, a bow across his back and a sword unsheathed in one hand.

    The dark brows frowned. "Hobbit? Some sort of spy for Mordor, I'd say. Get up." He gestured with his sword.

    "Spy? For Mordor? Me?" Sam repeated incredulous at the accusation.

    Then another voice came from behind the man, and the sound was a welcome relief. When Sam looked, he saw Legolas step out from the concealing brush, his bow drawn. "The hospitality of Gondor has faded in recent years, I see. Step away from him, Gondorian. Reluctant as I am to fire upon an ally, I assure you at this range I cannot miss."

    The Gondorian, if such he was, stepped back and turned to see who threatened him. As Sam scrambled to his feet and drew Sting, he was rewarded by the Gondorian's surprise. "You're an elf!"

    Legolas lowered his bow, though no one would be fool enough to think he couldn't have it drawn again and fired in less than a heartbeat. His lips turned up in a faint sneer. "I have always thought mortals were more clever than they seemed."

    The Gondorian ignored or missed the insult, and glanced back at Sam, confused. "Then he's with you? What is he, your servant?"

    Sam drew himself up, annoyed by this ignorant Big Folk. But Legolas got in the retort first, smirking at the Human, "Maybe I'm his." His gaze slipped to Sam, bright with mischief. "Are you well, Master?"

    Sam almost couldn't answer, taken by surprise, but then played along, delighted to toy with the human. "Yes, thank you." He resheathed Sting, brushed the dirt from his clothes and looked up at his friend. "I think we should be on our way."

    "Certainly, Master. I recommended you not follow me, remember?" Legolas asked, very politely, and Sam felt his face get hot at the reminder.

    The Gondorian looked between them, confused and still not quite believing them. He fumbled for a safer topic of conversation. "How did you know I hail from Gondor?"

    "Those were Haradrim," Legolas observed, and nodded toward the west, "were they not? They have long been servants of Sauron. Only an enemy of Mordor would fire upon them. Besides, I know of the Dúnedain of Ithilien."

    The Gondorian ranger nodded. "What brings an elf and a ... hobbit so far from their homes?"

    "That is our business," Legolas replied, and the merry light vanished from his eyes to be replaced by a cold and implacable glare. "You would do well not to interfere with it." 

    The Gondorian met his gaze and his hand tightened on his sword. "I do not think my captain would agree."

    "Do not be a fool," Legolas murmured in warning. He didn't move at all, but his suddenly expressionless face as he watched the human put Sam in mind of a cat watching a bird that had alighted within reach.

    The human was rather more brave than smart, Sam thought, as he pursued the topic. "I have never heard of elves in the service of Mordor, but you do not belong here," the Gondorian stated. "I must insist that you both come with me, so my captain can question you."

    All three of them heard a rustling coming up the ridge and Legolas turned, bow raised and drawn. He fired the instant a strange helmet came into view, and the enemy fell back with a cry.

    "Back! Move back!" he ordered both Sam and the Gondorian, who traded his sword for his bow. Nonetheless Legolas had fired twice more before the ranger fired once, as the elf covered their retreat.

    More of the strangely armored enemy soldiers climbed the rise and were felled by arrows from the ranger and Legolas.

    The first wave ended, and the Gondorian glanced at the elf urgently. "We must leave this place. We have a refuge. I offer it to you and your companion."

    Legolas glanced at Sam and then to the west, where even Sam could hear the rustlings of other enemy soldiers and shouts.

    "I swear to your safe conduct," the Gondorian added hastily. "On my honor."

    "Then lead on. Sam, after him. Go! They are coming."

    Sam turned, reluctantly following the Gondorian, and glanced back once to make sure Legolas was there. He had not moved yet. He fired four more times, felling more of the enemy as they came into view, and then ran after the ranger and Sam.

    The sound of pursuit faded as the three raced through the forest.

    The Gondorian slowed to make sure the two were following. "I apologize for before," he said. "It was... unexpected to find others in a place we thought was deserted. I am Mablung."

    "Legolas," the elf introduced himself briefly, "of the north. This is Samwise Gamgee, of the Shire of the halflings."

    "A halfling?" Mablung looked down at Sam with some wonder in his eyes. "Truly your visit is something out of the stories -- halflings and elves." He shook his head in amazement. He then added reluctantly. "I am supposed to blindfold all visitors to our refuge. But -- "

    "That is acceptable," Legolas interjected. Sam glanced up at him in surprise, but Legolas kept his gaze on the Gondorian. "I understand your desire for security."

    "I don't want to offend you or suggest that you're our enemy," Mablung objected. "There's really no reason -- I mean, you're an elf -- "

    "It is all right. I have no wish to know the location of your refuge."

    Sam thought it odd and a little funny that the 'prisoner' was the one arguing to be blindfolded. But then he figured that with Legolas' senses, it might not make that much of a difference anyway and it was a gesture of trust.

    Three other Rangers encountered them and were impressed by the appearance of an elf and a strange hobbit, and eventually the whole party moved toward their mysterious refuge. Legolas and Sam wore their blindfolds, each with a guide. Sam nearly laughed as the Men argued briefly over who got to touch the elf. It was as though they hoped some of his elvishness would rub off on them.

    The path seemed smooth but steep as it climbed along a river, which Sam could hear always on one side. They grew nearer to a loud waterfall and then the sound was muffled as they went into some underground tunnel. A few steps later, their blindfolds were removed, and Sam found himself in a damp cavern lit by torches and a cooking fire. There were bedrolls against the walls, packs of supplies, and some equipment, with a table and a couple of stools. About two dozen men stood in the cavern looking at them with various degrees of wonder or hostility.

    Mablung smiled at them. "Welcome to the Henneth Annûn, headquarters of the Rangers of Ithilien." He addressed another. "Is the captain back yet?"

    "In the back."

    "I'll get him," Mablung told them. "Wait here." He strode off to an opening at the far end that led to another cavern or tunnel. 

    Shortly Mablung emerged with another man, younger and slighter of build, but with dark hair and curiously gentle eyes, though his face showed some strain. His eyes widened when he saw the two there to meet him, and could not decide whether the elf or the hobbit was more amazing. He settled on looking at Legolas and bowed his head. "_Mae govannen_. Long years has it been since we saw an elf in Gondor. Your presence honors us," he said in greeting. Then his gaze dropped and fixed on the sword at Legolas' side.

    His hand went to his own sword-hilt and his expression turned cold. "That is my brother's sword. How did you get it?"

    At his words, the welcome of the rangers turned into suspicion, and many hands went to their weapons. 

    Sam stared at the captain in surprise. He was Boromir's brother? But Boromir had spoken of his brother as a quiet, rather scholarly youth -- not this warrior who stood before them.

    Legolas' voice was calm and he kept his hands away from his weapons. "Your brother? Then you are Faramir, son of Denethor?" 

    Faramir nodded once, shortly. "I will ask one more time, elf. How did you get Boromir's sword?"

    Legolas answered, "He was one of my companions. I sorrow to tell you, Captain Faramir, that Boromir was slain some ten days past."

    There was a shocked gasp at that, and Faramir paled. "You say you were one of his companions, how -- how did he die?"

    Sam tensed and couldn't help a glance up at his friend's face. Legolas had never told him the manner of Boromir's death, but Sam was certain that if he told the truth, neither of them would leave the cavern alive.

    But Legolas knew it as well, and he gave Faramir the truth without revealing everything. He met Faramir's gaze with a soft expression. "He was killed in battle with the forces of the Shadow. He fought bravely, but ... it was not enough. I helped ease the pain of his wounds as he passed." He set one hand lightly on the sword's pommel. "I carry his sword to remind me of the power of darkness, and in your brother's memory."

    There was a long silence as Faramir looked down and tried to get control over himself. "That is ill news, indeed," he managed finally to say in a level voice. "Why were you traveling together?"

    "We began with nine companions from Rivendell including your brother. Boromir was returning to Minas Tirith, and he traveled with the rest of us, while our paths lay together," Legolas explained, his voice gentling in sorrow. "But two were lost in the caverns of Moria, your brother at the ruins of Amon Hen, and two others were taken prisoner by orcs. The last two were separated from us, so Sam and I had to continue our journey alone."

    "But -- why?" Faramir asked, frowning. "Why come here?"

    Legolas hesitated to answer. "We are on a quest. We journey to Mordor."

    The gathered men whispered and drew back in shock. Faramir lifted a hand to quiet them. "Why would anyone choose to cross the Ephel Dúath?"

    "Because we must," Legolas answered. He raised his voice slightly to address all the men within the cavern. "Middle-Earth stands upon a narrow bridge, Captain Faramir. The Nazgûl have issued forth from Minas Morgul. Sauron's power grows, and he gathers his armies. Saruman of Angrenost has betrayed the west and allied himself with Mordor. Dark times have fallen upon us all, and each race of Middle-Earth, whether man, elf, hobbit, or dwarf must stand together. Sam and I must enter Mordor, for that is the task that fell to us."

    "But why?" Faramir persisted. "What good can you possibly do there?"

    Legolas shook his head once. "That I cannot reveal."

    "But it's really important," Sam volunteered.

    Faramir glanced down at him, and Sam wondered whether he should have spoken. Before, Faramir hadn't paid him much attention, but now Sam realized that the ranger captain had a sharp glint in his grey eyes. 

    But Faramir let it go, straightening. "I see. We will discuss this more later. You know who I am, but I have not had the favor of your names."

    "This is Samwise Gamgee, a halfling of the Shire in the old lands of Arnor." Legolas laid a hand on Sam's shoulder briefly, and lifted his chin. "And I am Legolas, son of Thranduil, king of the elves of Mirkwood in the distant north."

    That certainly impressed the gathered Big Folk, Sam saw with an inner grin. Not only were they hosting an elf -- something of a rare thing in itself, he gathered -- but an elven prince. Not that his rank seemed that important to Legolas, who rarely mentioned it, but it was enough for Faramir to offer assistance. On hearing how low their supplies were, Faramir gave Sam travel rations for his pack and Legolas his choice of arrows to restock his quiver. Legolas then asked for information about entering Mordor.

    Faramir led them to the back of the chamber where a low table had been set. He spread a map on a table and brought up a stool so that Sam could stand on it and also see.

    "We stand about here," Faramir put is finger between the river and the mountains, roughly east of Cair Andros. "Were you intending to go north or south?"

    "South, toward Minas Morgul." Legolas answered. He pretended not to notice the men's reaction to the name, as they shivered. "I have been told there is a secret path somewhere near the old city."

    Faramir hesitated. "I remember reading that there was another pass. But that was very long ago. None of us have gone near the dread city in centuries. It is a place of great evil."

    Legolas turned to him curiously. "Where was this other pass?"

    Faramir frowned and narrowed his eyes in thought. Then he bent and traced a line north of Minas Morgul and the Nameless pass. "Somewhere about there."

    "One I know passed that way not long ago," Legolas murmured, and Sam started, realizing that Legolas could only be speaking of Gollum.

    Faramir shook his head doubtfully. "Its name of old was ill-omened, my lord. Cirith Ungol."

    Legolas straightened, and his eyes suddenly blazed. "Ungol?" he repeated in a soft yet dangerous voice.

    Faramir did not step back though he seemed tempted. He nodded shortly. "I do not know why. But I am certain there is some foul evil there. I have seen lore-masters of my city blanch when speaking of it. I do not think it is wise for you to go that way."

    In confusion, Sam looked from one to another, wishing he had learned more elvish. "What does it mean?"

    "The Pass of the Spider," Legolas declared in disgust. "I fear no spiders, if such actually exist in Cirith Ungol, Captain Faramir. Long have they spun their webs in the green forests of my home, and my people hunt them. Their bloated bodies fall to our arrows as easily as other creatures."

    Sam swallowed, remembering Bilbo's tales of the giant carnivorous spiders in Mirkwood. As Bilbo told the story, his escape had been a very near thing and the spiders had been as big as a hobbit. Sam had no wish to meet a spider which was the same size as he was.

    Faramir nodded, but somewhat dubiously. "Even if there are no spiders, I doubt the way is unguarded. The Nameless One surely knows the path."

    "Perhaps," Legolas agreed. "Yet it is guarded at the foot by Minas Morgul. Why should Sauron --" He paused when Faramir and Mablung flinched at the naming. Legolas' smile flickered. "Captain, by not speaking his name, you give Sauron power over you."

    "Speaking his name attracts the attention of the Eye," Faramir whispered. "This close to Mordor we do not take needless risks."

    Though it was evident that Legolas did not agree, he nodded once, and changed the subject. "I know of no other path to try. This seems as good a prospect as any."

    Faramir hesitated and looked at his guest in appraisal. "You are not afraid to enter Mordor? It must surely be a weighty task that takes you into the nest of darkness with such determination."

    "Should I fail," Legolas met his gaze, very serious, "Middle-Earth will fall to the enemy."

    Silence fell for a long moment, broken only by the hiss of burning torches and the rush of water.

    Faramir offered slowly, "Then if it is so important, the rangers of Ithilien should go with you and protect you on your quest."

    Sam's gaze shot toward Legolas, surprised by the offer. The elf was likewise surprised, and for a moment Sam thought he might accept the offer to help.

    But then he shook his head. "It is a generous offer, Captain Faramir. Especially when you do not even know the full nature of what I must do. Yet I cannot accept. My quest has already taken the lives of many, friend and foe alike. Nor will I willingly take allies into such peril, which would grow even more with many companions. One may creep where a whole company would be seen."

    "Two," Sam corrected staunchly.

    "Yes, true enough," Legolas set a hand on his shoulder. "Two."

    But Sam was hit by a sudden foreboding. Did Legolas intend to leave him behind to finish the quest alone?

    The hobbit glared at his friend, resolving not to let it happen. He had promised to see it through, and so he would. The son of Hamfast Gamgee was not so easily left behind.

*~*~*~*~*~*

    The evening had grown late, but Legolas could not sleep, even in this relative safety. He silently picked his way across the chamber of sleeping men and through the entrance, climbing down steps and moving outside to a vantage point mid-way down the falls, along a narrow rocky shelf.

    The night air was cold and damp but fresh, and it was quieter here without the echoes of the cavern magnifying every breath and rustle of sleeping men.

    The refuge was located in one of the narrow defiles that cut through Ithilien. Steeply sided, it allowed only a limited view of the night sky, and that was mostly blocked by clouds. But the moonlight was bright enough to shine onto the pool below and the hardy trees and bushes clinging to the steep walls.

    He sat on one of the rocks, his feet dangling over the edge, and took out a small leaf-wrapped bundle. Within was a square piece of _lembas _the size of the end of his thumb. Very slowly, he nibbled at the piece until it was gone. He licked away the last few crumbs and then released the bent leaf so it could fall into the pool below.

    That was the last of it. The other two packets had been crushed by the snake and made inedible by swamp water. So he had no food left. Or at least none that he was willing to eat. Elves were strong creatures, capable of enduring long periods without food, but his will to resist would be sapped without sustenance. Yet if he gave in to the desires of the ring for the sustenance it would allow, he would become the ring's servant that much faster.

    _Not again_, he swore to himself. Shame warred with desire within him, remembering the taste of the deer's blood with his mouth fastened onto the wound in its neck like a hideous leech.

    The Lay of Leithian mentioned the monstrous, blood-drenched form that Sauron had become on escaping Lúthien and hiding from the Valar in Taur-na-Fuin. Legolas feared becoming such a creature if he gave in to this hunger, but how much choice did he have? He shuddered and his hands trembled with need. 

    _I will not, not again._

    But he had sworn that the last time, and broken it. The ring had trapped him well.

    For the first time in days, he took off the ring. It lay in his palm, glittering in the moonlight. His hand did not ache so much, holding it. It was small and plain, but beautiful. 

    Boromir's words on the mountain came back to him, '_Strange that we should suffer so much fear and doubt for such a little thing_.'

    Legolas remembered wondering in that moment whether Aragorn's sword or his own arrow would kill the human first, if he chose not to give the ring back to Frodo. But it had turned out that his own knife had ended Boromir's life, because of the ring.

    No, it was not a little thing. It was power and the temptation of power. It whispered promises that he knew were lies but wanted to believe: Promises of how he might find a path out of the maze surrounding him. Promises of how he might avert the doom awaiting him.

    But he knew deep in his heart that there was no escape. No whispered promises from the ring could change that.

    He glanced west, out through the cleft toward the Anduin and beyond. _I will never see Valinor. I will never see the Harbor of Swans, or the Ever-white Mountain. I will never see the shining hill of Tol Eressëa rising from the sea. These things are barred to me, because of this thing I bear._

    He stared down at the ring and traced it with a fingertip once. Then the sound of boots on stone behind him made him tighten his hand into a fist around the ring.

    He sensed the claws reaching out in the darkness toward the human, seeking a new bearer. The ring wanted one who would not fight it at all and take it straight to Sauron.

    "You do not sleep, Prince Legolas?" Faramir called in a soft voice as he came near.

    "Captain Faramir. Neither do you, it seems."

    For a long moment the human said nothing and seemed to be staring off at the night as well.

    Legolas refused to tense. His bow and sword were back in the cave, but he had his knives. There was no danger, not yet.

    Without looking at him, Faramir murmured, "Do you know what it was that sent my brother north?" He did not wait for Legolas to reply. "A dream we both shared. He sought four things: a halfling, Rivendell, the Sword that was Broken, and Isildur's bane. I know he found the first two. Did he find the last?"

    "He found the sword, for the shards of Narsil have ever been kept at Imladris," Legolas answered, wondering where Aragorn was and hoping he was well. "In Elrond's house too Boromir found the sword's owner: Aragorn, son of Arathorn, the heir of Isildur." The keen eyes of Faramir suddenly fell on him and he breathed in sharply.

    "So now the riddle becomes clearer," Faramir murmured.

    Legolas continued. "Aragorn intended to make his way to Minas Tirith, but we parted at Amon Hen. I do not know where he is now."

    "Ah. He had not come to the city when I departed it some six days ago." Faramir considered for a long moment, no doubt wondering what the return of the king would do to his father and his own position in Gondor. The Stewards had ruled Gondor for half the age, and doubtless none had believed Isildur's heir would claim his birthright in his lifetime. Faramir's voice was soft. "And Isildur's bane?" 

    Legolas hesitated but realized it probably didn't matter. He opened his fist to display the ring on his palm briefly, before hiding it again.

    Faramir sucked in a breath. "Is that -- ? You carry Isildur's bane? It's a ring." And then his eyes grew wide as he put together fragments of lore known to him from the last days of the age past and he realized what it was. "The One Ring."

    "It calls to you, Faramir," Legolas whispered and Faramir flinched as if struck. "I hear it calling to you. It calls because it believes you will be easier to corrupt and it is losing opportunities to find a new bearer. But it is not yours, and it cannot ever be yours, or Middle-Earth will fall into shadow without end."

    Faramir wasn't listening. His hand reached out to touch Legolas' fist, fingers shaking slightly. "The Ring of Power... So shall Faramir show his quality."

    Legolas drew his hand back and spoke sharply, "Faramir, son of Denethor, _lasto beth lammen_!"

    Faramir's gaze jerked up to meet his, the ring's whisper silenced by the elvish spell. "Hear me," Legolas repeated, less forcefully but no less intensely, while his gaze held the mortal's. "The king comes, Faramir -- the last heir of Elendil is returning to Gondor, but he will need you. Your people and your lands need you all the more with your brother's passing. Do not throw it away for something which is false. The ring brings only death."

    In the following moment of silence, a flare of pain shot through Legolas' hand like a flash of fire. His fingers spasmed, cramping around the ring, and the missing one burned.

    But he sat and endured it, tightening his jaw against crying out, because he knew the ring was punishing him for thwarting its desires. The claws of dark ice had found no purchase on Faramir.

    Not that it would last, Legolas knew that too. He had to leave and soon.

    Faramir glanced down at Legolas' tightly fisted hand and his knuckles white with strain. "You plan to destroy it?"

    "Yes."

    "Then, forgive me, but you should go," Faramir suggested. He took one deliberate step backward. "I -- I don't want to let it go, but I know I have to."

    Legolas nodded once and stood. "I will go now. You and your men should return to Minas Tirith. There is nothing more you can do here."

    Faramir nodded his agreement. "That was already planned. My father must be told of Boromir's death. He will not take it well." His gaze went distant and dark, and Legolas wondered what trouble with Denethor he foresaw. But there was no time to ask about that, when he had another request to make.

    Legolas said, "And please, take Sam with you. His friends will also come to Minas Tirith eventually and... he should be with them."

    Faramir frowned. "I thought he goes with you."

    Legolas shook his head and he glanced west, eyes pricking with sudden tears, thinking of the hobbit's courage and loyalty. His voice remained level. "No. He is very brave, and I think he truly would go with me to the end. But I would not have him share in my fate."

    "Your fate?" Faramir repeated and his eyes met Legolas' in the moonlight. He nodded once in realization. "You mean not to return."

    "I know I will not," Legolas answered very quietly. "Whatever happens, I will not return to the west. I would ask that you aid Aragorn in what he must do. He is my friend, and he was not so accepting of his destiny when last I saw him. Gondor needs you both."

    Faramir nodded once. "I will."

    "You have a noble spirit, son of Denethor. It will serve you well." Legolas slipped past him on the path and glanced back once at the entrance to the cavern behind the waterfall. Faramir was looking out to the western stars, his hands clenched at his sides.

    Holding the ring in his cramping fingers against his chest, Legolas entered the large cavern where everyone slept. He intended to gather his things silently and leave, but all too soon he knew that the ring was thwarting his plan.

* * *

_Mae govannen_ = 'Well met', 'hello'.   
Continued in Chapter 9: To the Cross-roads 


	9. To the Crossroads

_Disclaimer: Based on 'The Lord of the Rings', by JRR Tolkien. This is a non-commercial work. No infringement of copyright is intended._

"Window of the Sunset" is the fourth in the _Broken Fellowship Series_. It is ** strongly** recommended that you read the previous stories first.  


Well, after trying to upload unsuccessfully for almost a week, here's the next chapter! Thanks to all who've written such great comments -- keep 'em coming! {g}

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The Broken Fellowship, Book IV:

_Window of the Sunset_

_Chapter 9: To the Cross-roads_

by Lizardbeth Johnson

  


    A biting chill breeze flowed through the chamber and the few lit torches flickered, as a dark miasma spread out from the ring. The men began to stir, muttering in their sleep and turning restlessly as their dreams grew shadowed.

    Legolas hurried to his side of the chamber, where Sam still slept peacefully. After threading the ring back on its chain under his tunic, he buckled on Boromir's sword, trying to be quick but silent, and keeping a wary eye on the sleeping mortals. His cloak, then quiver and knife harness were next, slung over his head. A cough and grumble turned his head in alarm, but no one stirred yet.

    Last, he bent to pick up his pouch of supplies and bow.

    "Where are you going, elf?" the voice was loud, not far behind him.

    Legolas dropped everything and whipped around, knife in his right hand. Other men were waking, but it was the dark haired man standing ten paces away that concerned him most. In the dim light, his eyes glittered.

    "Why do you sneak out like a thief in the night?" the man demanded. His own belt knife was already drawn, Legolas noticed.

    "What is your name?" Legolas challenged, hoping to distract him, just a moment.

    The man's eyes narrowed, but he answered. "Angrod, son of Angbor of Lamedon."

    "Angrod," Legolas repeated and nodded once. He lowered his knife, but did not re-sheathe it. "It is an honorable name, known in the lore of my people. Angrod, son of Finarfin, was slain during the Dagor Bragollach, in combat with the forces of Shadow. He was a wise prince of the west and mighty warrior." For just a moment, the dark gleam in Angrod's eyes faltered.

    A confused voice near his feet interrupted, "Legolas? What's going on?"

    Sam's voice distracted Angrod from Legolas' delicate call to the light, and the ring resumed its grip on the human, reaching to grasp others. Four moved to Angrod's side, while most others frowned from one to the other in confusion.

    "We're leaving, Sam. Gather our things," Legolas ordered curtly, not taking his gaze off the men facing them but aware of other movements.

    "You will not leave until you explain why you want to sneak out of our refuge," Angrod demanded. "Maybe you're going to tell Mordor where we're hiding, spy?"

    Legolas raised his knife just slightly, but refused to give in to the taunt. "Never have the elves served Mordor. Can you say the same, mortal?"

    "What's happening?" Sam demanded, his voice anxious. He was watching the men, too, while he packed.

    "A fell darkness has touched everyone in this place," Legolas answered. Two more men had come to stand at Angrod's side, and Angrod was not the only one who had drawn a weapon. 

    "If there is, then you have brought it," Angrod snarled and stepped forward. "You will not leave." Legolas lifted his knife in warning and Angrod stopped.

    Another man said, "I dreamed that you were lying, elf. You have something we want."

    "And you won't leave until we have it," another said. There were six of them bunched around Angrod now, most with knives bared.

    "Legolas?" Sam asked in a small frightened voice.

    Legolas held out his left hand but dared not look away from the men. "Hand me my bow, Sam."

    "But you can't kill them," he said. "They're our friends. Aren't they?" He raised his voice to address the men. "You gave your word that we would have refuge here. That no harm would come to us. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

    "Yes, it does," another voice cut in and Mablung walked between the two groups, looking at his friends. "They aren't our prisoners, Angrod. If they want to leave, they can."

    "They are prisoners," Angrod spat. "Lying thieves."

    "Angrod--" Mablung tried again, holding out his hand in a gesture to calm down, but Angrod swiped at it with his knife. Mablung leapt back with a cry and he pulled his sword free. "Angrod! Have you forsaken your honor?"

    The seven who were enthralled by the ring stalked forward. Everyone else seemed to stare dumbly, moving neither to help or hinder. Sam hurriedly shoved Legolas' bow into his hand and then pulled Sting.

    "I have brought this evil among you," Legolas explained hurriedly and drew. The aimed arrow made the attackers pause again. At this range it would likely go through Angrod and kill the man behind him as well. But all the same, that would help only a little against these numbers in such a confined space. "I am sorry. I should never have come here."

    Mablung scanned the cavern for aid and found none. He shouted, "Captain Faramir!"

    Legolas held his target and started to shift sideways. "To the entrance, Sam. Hurry."

    The three began to sidle carefully along the wall toward the exit, Angrod and his companions followed at the same pace. Then Sam stopped. "There are more."

    Legolas darted a glance and saw two more men waiting for them, blades bared and glittering no less than their eyes. He shifted his target to them, trusting Mablung to watch his back and praying to Elbereth that the man would remain true.

    "I am leaving," he declared, to give fair warning. "Any man who seeks to stop me is my enemy and I will not hesitate to kill. But I would rather not shed the blood of Gondor."

    But his warning fell on deaf ears. They were going to charge. Legolas could feel their intent to attack.

    "Damrod!" Mablung called desperately. "Come back to your senses!"

    A loud, strong voice cut in the dark and restless silence. "What is the meaning of this?" Faramir appeared behind the two at the entrance. "Damrod, why do you threaten our guests?" he snapped, a hand on his own sword-hilt. "Stand aside. Prince Legolas is leaving."

    "But captain --" Damrod turned his head to look at Faramir.

    The blank-faced rangers stirred slowly as though awakening from a dream.

    "Let them pass, Damrod. I will not say it again."

    Under the press of his strong words and noble carriage, the ring's influence, being stretched among so many, weakened. Damrod and his friend at the door moved toward the waterfall, out of the way. Damrod even looked somewhat ashamed.

    Not taking his gaze from his people, Faramir called, "Legolas, you and Sam should go now."

    Legolas agreed with that fervently and gave Sam a nudge to get going. At the entrance he looked at the young captain of Gondor and back at the friend who had guarded them. "Elbereth watch over you both. Beware -- darker times are coming."

    "Fare you well, Legolas of the Forest," Mablung called back, and Faramir raised his hand.

    Legolas retraced the steps that had brought them to Henneth Annûn, finding the path easily. There were few steps or turns and the men of Gondor had walked it often enough to leave a trail even a dwarf could follow.

    Climbing out of the narrow canyon, he put his back to it and set a swift pace. He had to put as much distance between the men and the ring as he could, and place temptation out of their reach.

    Yet he was dismayed by how easily and quickly the ring had taken hold of them. It was another reminder of the ring's power, which seemed to have strengthened this close to its home. It was a reminder that even an elf's strength was not endless.

    His earlier joy at spring in the forest had been utterly replaced by wariness. He cursed every moment wasted along the journey, for now he was in a race with the ring's growing influence over him.

    It was a race that Middle-Earth could not afford him to lose.

*~*~*~*~*~*

    When the sun rose over the dark clouds above the Ephel Dúath, Sam took a deep breath and continued after his friend.

    Spurred by some unspoken anxiety, Legolas had quickened their traveling pace and had returned them to the road for even swifter travel. The recent passing of the Haradrim army meant that the way was trampled and clear, even if they had to step around the occasional refuse and shockingly large leavings of the oliphaunts.

    Sam could only tag along after Legolas, grateful for the miles of the journey that already lay behind or he would not have been able to keep up. Even so, he knew that if Legolas were alone, he would likely be running. For the first time, Legolas seemed to begrudge the slow pace. He glanced back over his shoulder whenever Sam lagged back. He said nothing, but the look was enough to prod Sam to quicken his steps. Sam, afraid that Legolas would simply keep going without him, struggled onward.

    But finally Sam had to call a halt about mid-day. He needed a drink of water and something from the provisions Faramir had provided. He simply stopped, opened his pack and took out the pouch of dried fruit and nuts.

    Legolas turned, noticed that Sam had stopped altogether and frowned. "What are you doing?"

    "I realize that elves apparently need only air to live on," Sam replied, "but I need a bit of water and a bite to eat before I go one step farther. I'd rather you didn't leave me behind while I did that."

    Legolas glanced southward, apparently considering just that, but his gaze returned to Sam. His body untensed, and he walked back to where Sam had stopped. "I am sorry. I have been pressing you hard," he murmured. "But since last night I have been on edge. There is an unnatural stillness to the forest," he lifted his gaze to the trees that lined the road. "I feel that it is _waiting_ for something."

    Now that he mentioned it, Sam noticed it too. The forest was quiet -- there were no birds, no rustlings in the undergrowth, and even the air seemed still and close. They had seen not a sign of another being or animal since the sun rose.

    Very softly, Legolas added, "It feels as though a storm is coming. We cannot linger, Sam. Or we will be too late."

    Sam swallowed his handful of mixed seeds and some water and placed the supplies back in his pack. "I'm ready."

    Legolas' smile flickered and he didn't start yet, looking down at his smaller friend. "I will not leave you behind, Sam," he promised, "unless I have no other choice. If so, I want you to promise that you will make your way to Minas Tirith. Do not try to follow me."

    "I don't know where it is," Sam protested, not entirely truthfully. He had looked at the map, so he had some general idea where the city lay.

    "Go down to the river. You will see Osgiliath, the great ruined city of Gondor astride the Anduin," Legolas instructed. "From there you will be able to see Minas Tirith and the great walls of the Pelennor. Please, Sam, promise me."

    Sam hesitated, but he realized Legolas was right. If the time truly came when he had no other choice, Legolas would go and he would be far too swift for Sam to follow. Sam was no tracker, and was not sure even Aragorn could successfully track Legolas. What Legolas suggested made sense -- yet it struck him as something he shouldn't like to tell the others as something slightly shameful. "Very well, I promise," he said at last. "But we should go, so you won't have to leave me behind."

    They started off again at the same swift pace. As the afternoon wore on, Legolas slowed, perhaps realizing that they were not going to reach wherever it was he wanted to get by nightfall. He went to stand on top of the western edge of the road. Sam scrambled after him, grateful for the reprieve.

    The sun was low in the west, shining in their eyes, so that Sam had to lift a hand to shade them. At their feet, Ithilien fell away, so the tops of the trees seemed almost to be a lawn, softly undulating down to the river. There was a haze down there, but Sam caught glimpses of sun glints on the water and vague grey outlines of something not made by nature in the river.

    "Osgiliath," Legolas murmured and lifted his gaze slightly, toward the White Mountains. "And Minas Tirith. The great city of Gondor, crowned by the tower of Echthelion."

    Try as he might, Sam could make out nothing of the great city, only the distant humps of the mountains.

    "No one lives in Osgiliath do they?" Sam asked.

    Legolas shook his head. "No. It is guarded, but it has not been a city for seasons beyond counting. It is ruined and its defenses are weak. If Mordor attacks in strength, Osgiliath will fall."

    "And Minas Tirith?" Sam asked, looking up at Legolas' proud features, cast golden by the slanted sunlight. In that moment, it seemed he truly saw the print of his elvish friend's long life in his deep, sad eyes.

    "There is still strength in the blood of Númenor, as Faramir showed. Yet so many fell to the thrall of the ring in the cavern..." his right hand crept upward to touch the ring beneath his shirt, "it seems that blood has become thin. Boromir said that the people had lost hope, and Steward Denethor's rule was failing. The city may fall."

    "But Aragorn will find his way there," Sam said. He still found it strange that Strider was also the heir of Isildur and heir to the throne of Gondor, but now there was great hope in the thought as well. "He can save the city. Can't he?"

    "Elrond named him Estel in Imladris, which means 'hope'," Legolas turned his gaze to Sam and smiled a bit. "If anyone can save Minas Tirith, Estel can." He ruffled Sam's hair, and Sam let out an indignant yelp and ducked away. "Let's make camp, Sam. We will move by daylight while this quiet lasts."

    Sam started across the road to the other side, knowing they couldn't camp on the road itself. When he turned back to see where Legolas was, he saw the elf still looking toward Minas Tirith. Sam suspected he knew what Legolas was thinking, from the somber look on his face and a glance up to the sky -- he was praying that Aragorn had found his way to Minas Tirith and was even now preparing the city against the war to come.

    The next day started out much like the day before, beginning just after dawn as soon as Sam had made some fresh mint tea for himself and eaten some of the dried fruit for breakfast. Legolas sipped his own lady's foot tea with an expression of distaste and ate nothing. Sam realized he hadn't seen Legolas eat anything for two days, but he forbore to ask. By his reckoning the elf's supply of _lembas_ should be about two loaves now, but perhaps Legolas was stretching them out longer to make certain he had enough. No hobbit could do it, but elves were much stronger.

    Legolas had them fill all their water skins at the stream before leaving, explaining, "The water of the Morgulduin is certain to be foul, and we may not have water at all on the other side of the mountains."

    Sam frowned. "But there are Men in the Enemy's service. And even orcs have to drink, don't they?"

    "I would not advise you drink from something tainted by orcs," Legolas said, his gaze momentarily hard and blazing. "They defile everything they touch."

    Sam padded after Legolas, remembering what Bilbo had once said about elves long ago. "_The elves hate all things of the Shadow, but especially orcs. The orcs were created by Morgoth in mockery of them -- foul where they are fair, bent where they are straight. I have heard that one elf alone will take on a band of twelve or twenty or more, for they think nothing of their own safety, only of killing the enemy._"

    Later experience with Legolas had shown Bilbo wasn't exactly right. Legolas had certainly killed his share of goblins in Moria, but he had done so with cold deliberation, not hot anger, and had never neglected protecting the fellowship first. Yet there was no doubting the hatred that he, like all elves, felt.

    The strange stillness continued in the forest, straining Sam's nerves. They walked at the edge of the road, ready to scramble into hiding if Legolas sensed someone approaching. But there was nothing.

    The forest opened out. The trees became larger and spread more widely apart, with grasses and early spring flowers forming carpets between. Thickets of gorse grew in the dry drainage courses at the sides of the road, making a near-impassable hedge stretching above Sam's head. Legolas walked more slowly, more warily, as the available cover thinned.

    About mid-day they stopped for a brief rest at the edge of the road. Sam perched on a low boulder to give his legs a chance to recover and took out a piece of the salted meat from his provisions to chew on.

    Legolas remained standing, still but poised like a hunting cat with all his senses focused outward. He said nothing.

    For lack of anything better to do, Sam looked around. The mountains had curved in toward the road, and it seemed that not far ahead a dark, craggy shoulder of the mountain lay astride their intended path. They were even farther from the river here and Sam could see nothing of it westward, just the lower slopes of the forest of Ithilien.

    All seemed peaceful and quiet, and yet it seemed that all the wood was quivering like a taut bowstring, near release.

    It was something of a relief to move again.

    Only a few hours later, Sam noticed that the road was heading steadily toward what seemed to be a high wall, but as the two came nearer, he realized that they were trees of immense size, twice as high and twice as broad as the others.

    Legolas slowed and stopped. "I believe that is the cross-roads," he murmured. "Stay here, Sam. I will go ahead and see if there is a path around."

    Sam nodded and settled himself into hiding at the side of the road, in the shade of a thorny, broad-leafed shrub. He waited, drank a little water, and watched the shadows creep along the ground as the sun sank lower.

    He heard no footstep to indicate Legolas had returned, but suddenly he heard a soft call of his name. Sam scrambled out from under the branches and brushed off the dead leaves and dirt from his clothes.

    "Well?" he asked when the elf said nothing.

    Legolas shook his head once. "We will have to go through the crossroads. Above, toward the mountain, there is little cover and no paths. We will wait for twilight."

    It was plain Legolas did not care for the delay, but he had no choice. They could not risk the road to Minas Morgul by daylight. Sam was not sure they should risk it by night either, as the Enemy could see as well during the night as the day, but there would be deeper shadows to hide in at night.

    When the sun sank to the horizon, turning the leaves and road shades of red and gold, they started again.

    The trees of the crossroads were set in a wide circle where the four roads came together. At their back lay the road to Morannon, to the right the road down to Osgiliath, ahead the road to Umbar and Far Harad, and to the left the road up to Minas Morgul and the Pass of Dread.

    The trees were vast in size, but not the straight proud trunks of the mallorns in Lothlórien, instead gnarled and spread with age. Their tops were gaunt and broken as though blasted by a storm, and yet the trees clung to the ground as they had for a thousand years or more. They formed a towering wall all around, like a roofless vaulted hall, now crumbling into decay. Within the ring, there was scarcely a blade of grass that had not been trampled by the passage of thousands of feet and hooves.

    Across the way, sheltered by the over-arching boughs, was a giant stone carving of a once-great king, sitting on his throne. Time had worn its edges, but mostly the violent hands of the enemy had hacked at it. The head was gone, and in its place a rough stone with a drawing of a grinning face and the red eye of Sauron above.

    Sitting upon the false head was a large crow. Deepest black with yellow eyes, it looked at them the moment they emerged into the open. It was, no doubt, keeping watch on the crossroads. Whether for Sauron or Saruman, Sam could not tell, but either way it was a spy for the Enemy.

    Keeping his eyes on it, Legolas slowly held up his bow and nocked an arrow. Sam was frozen, not wanting to startle the bird and spoil Legolas' shot.

    With a loud caw, it abruptly jumped into the air. Legolas loosed, and a moment later, the arrow struck. With a louder shriek, the bird plummeted to the ground. Legolas raced across the open field, some four hundred paces, to retrieve his arrow.

    Once that was done, Legolas gestured for Sam to go eastward. The two began to crept softly around on the edges, mirroring each other as warily as spies. The crow was dead, but still it seemed as though something could be watching them.

    The brightness in the sky began to fade and the shadows grew thick at Sam's feet. Night fell quickly and under its cover, Legolas dashed across to rejoin him. The elf's presence eased Sam's nerves somewhat, but he still felt uneasy and more tired than he ought, after resting much of the day.

    The road ran straight for some distance, and Sam didn't know if it was luck or some dark plan that kept it empty. They walked along the northern edge, where there was a low stone wall. But only in greatest need would Sam climb over it to hide -- in many places the crumbling wall was covered by dark vines that looked suspiciously like itch-ivy and in other places, the wall was on the other side of stinging nettles as high as his waist.

    The road bent southwards, no longer keeping to its straight course, to curve around the bare, dark cliffs of the shoulder of the mountain that they had seen before. There was no wall there, just the sharp towering rockface above them, throwing deep shadows across the road.

    Then they passed, and the road straightened once again, as the valley opened up before them. Suddenly, Minas Morgul came into view. Sam leaned against the rock wall at his back, gaze fixed on the city, as his knees grew weak in sudden fear. At his side, Legolas stopped.

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Continued in Chapter 10: Minas Morgul 


	10. Minas Morgul

_Disclaimer: Based on 'The Lord of the Rings', by JRR Tolkien. This is a non-commercial work. No infringement of copyright is intended._

"Window of the Sunset" is the fourth in the _Broken Fellowship Series_. It is ** strongly** recommended that you read the previous stories first.  
Getting close to the end here, folks. Hope you enjoy the ride.   


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****

The Broken Fellowship, Book IV:

_Window of the Sunset_

_Chapter 10: Minas Morgul_

by Lizardbeth Johnson

  


    Across the broad valley, high on a rocky seat, Minas Morgul loomed over everything. Though all was in darkness around it, from the forbidding mountains behind it to the sky above, the towers and walls themselves were gleaming with light. But it was not the silver glow of the moonlight that once had been trapped and reflected in the walls, but rather a sickly, eerie glow of death and decay that illuminated nothing. Black windows were the bottomless eyes of a skull, staring straight at them.

    It took Sam a few moments to realize that Legolas had moved. The elf walked slowly, as if in a dream, straight up the middle of the road toward the bridge that spanned the Morgulduin. On either bank of the river were shadowy fields of small white flowers. The flowers seemed lovely, until Sam realized that they glimmered with the same paleness as the walls of Minas Morgul, and gave off a faint but sweetly sickening scent of rot. 

    Stone figures guarded the ends of the bridge -- massive yet twisted, misshapen bestial men. With a jolt of sickening horror, Sam realized that the stone creature nearest him was crouched above what was clearly meant to be an elf. Sam averted his eyes before he could figure out exactly what loathsome thing the creature was doing to its bound prisoner.

    But Legolas seemed not to notice, as he crossed the bridge and started up the road on the other side, his gaze fixed on the towers of Minas Morgul.

    The vapors rising from the water were bitter cold and choking as Sam ran after his friend, catching him only a few steps off the bridge. He grabbed Legolas' free hand and jerked sharply. "No," he whispered urgently. "Legolas, no!" As softly as he spoke, it still seemed that the whole valley shuddered with the noise.

    Legolas stopped, but when Sam looked upward, he could see the corpse-light of the walls reflecting in Legolas' eyes.

    The elf's hand lay limply in both of Sam's, until he trembled and closed his eyes. "That's right," Sam coaxed in a murmur. "Come back, Legolas. Not that way. We don't want to go that way."

    Legolas' hand tightened on his suddenly, holding painfully tightly, until he opened his eyes. With visible effort, he dragged his gaze away from the lure of the gleaming walls. His mouth opened but he could not speak. His eyes seemed to be pleading for Sam's help.

    Not relinquishing his grip, Sam began to guide him back over the bridge to the north side of the road. All the elf's grace had fled, and he stumbled on a loose stone and might have fallen, except for Sam's grip on his hand. His steps, usually soundless and light, were heavy and left clear tracks in the dust. 

    Not far from the river-bank there was a wide gap in the stone wall, where there once might have been an archway or gate of some kind, since the wall to either side of the gap was higher. Sam made for that opening, intending to find a little cover while Legolas recovered his senses.

    Through the opening, he found a wide path straight through a field of the sickly flowers, heading toward several boulders at the bottom of the jagged cliff-face. Halfway there, Legolas stopped and started to turn back, but Sam held tightly on to his hand and wouldn't let him. "No. That's not the way," he whispered. "Legolas, can you hear me? Don't listen to it."

    Legolas continued to allow himself to be guided forward, his expression eerily vacant. Once within the dubious shelter of the towering boulders, his legs folded beneath him like a newborn colt's and he collapsed. Sam could do nothing to stop it, and winced when Legolas struck the rocky ground hard.

    He tugged on Legolas' hand. "Come on. We can't stay here." But pulling on Legolas now was like tugging on the branch of an oak -- it was attached to something utterly immoveable. "It's not safe," he added urgently, pulling again.

    Yet Legolas would not move. He closed his eyes, and Sam noticed he was shaking with constant small tremors like a leaf in the wind. "I ... cannot," Legolas forced out in a hollow voice. "The darkness ... calls ..."

    Sam seated himself close beside Legolas, hoping his presence and warmth would help somewhat to keep the Shadow at bay.

    But he glanced at the path, which was faintly gleaming, and hoped that nothing was walking it this night. It would take no effort for someone on the path to see them, and he was already frightened enough by the thought that there were Ringwraiths within the walls of Minas Morgul, all too near. The sense of creeping dread was too strong for Sam to do more than doze, and he continually started awake after only a few minutes, imagining someone or something watching them.

    The night crept past so slowly it was as though Middle-Earth itself resisted the coming dawn. Yet even the powers of the Ringwraiths could not completely embrace the sky above. For a brief moment, there was an opening in the clouds toward the west, and the bright light of the star Eärendil shone upon them.

     Legolas' head turned upward and his lips moved in soundless elvish prayer, even after the clouds covered the stars once more and the night grew dark. His hand gently clutched Sam's shoulder. "We should go," he whispered.

    Sam looked into his face intently, checking to see if truly Legolas was recovered. It seemed he was. He was shining faintly as though he was still beneath star-light, bright enough that Sam could see him clearly even in the dark. "Are you all right?" Sam asked.

    Legolas hesitated. "Better," he murmured. "We must not linger so close." He rose to his feet cautiously, careful to keep the bulk of stones between him and the fortress on the far hill.

    At the very moment Legolas stood -- Sam had only just begun to rise -- a heavy thumping boom, like thunder, filled the valley. The noise made the ground tremble beneath their feet.

    In alarm, fearing they had been discovered, Sam jumped to his feet and put his hand on Sting's hilt. But Legolas' free hand closed over his forearm, preventing him from moving rashly.

    While the two remained poised there, frozen like a rabbit between wolves, the deep boom sounded again. As soon as the echoes died away, Legolas pulled on his arm, forcing Sam to stumble after.

    They continued up the path that Sam had found, as it twisted and wound its way up the north face of the valley. Every few steps that bone-rattling boom sounded again.

    They rose above the sickly and vile stench of the flowers into fresher air, and Sam's mind cleared.

    It was a drum, Sam decided, some kind of huge drum within Minas Morgul making the noise. Though why it was sounding now, he had no idea, except that every time it crashed he thought it meant doom.

    With every step his limbs seemed leaden. It was an effort to continue marching upward along the narrow, dark path, following Legolas. Even the elf seemed weary, walking with slow deliberation ahead and occasionally catching himself on a boulder to support himself. He also glanced backward often, which made Sam do the same, fearing that someone was creeping up behind him. There was never anyone there -- only the ever-present weight of Minas Morgul watching them.

    They had risen quite a ways off the valley-floor, through switch-backs and winding paths when Legolas stopped for no obvious reason.

    "What is it?" Sam muttered.

    Legolas only gestured upward with his bow, indicating the rising path. Sam peered upward, seeing that the path was narrowing and turning to steps that climbed steeply eastward, sliced through the rock. He could not see the end of it. The mere thought of climbing it made him feel exhausted.

    "You have found Cirith Ungol, Sam. We'll rest here," Legolas murmured. "I also want to see what the Enemy is doing." He perched himself on a rock, wrapped his cloak about him and settled to watch Minas Morgul from their shelf in the cliff, about half way to the ridgeline.

    Sam joined him, sitting on the ground with his back to the same rock. But he did not look at the poisonous fortress after the first glance. It made him shiver to look at it, to see those empty window-eyes peering straight across the valley into his heart. At least soon it would be daylight -- surely even the Morgul valley would look better by day.

    Or so Sam thought.

    But a ruby red light suddenly glowing in the east, underneath the cloud-cover, was not the sun. It stained the undersides of the clouds like blood. Shortly afterward, a hot and dry wind blew from the east, carrying with it a sulfurous reek and the taint of grey ash that seemed to cling to the inside of Sam's mouth and nose. He coughed into his sleeve, trying to stifle it, and wiped his watering eyes. It was impossible to even doze, breathing that muck.

    The sun rose somewhere behind that choking, thick air and turned their surroundings into a flat, shadowless gloom. The merciless non-light made everything have jagged, harsh edges, and the lack of anything living but those nasty flowers was even more creepy. There was just bare, black stone and grey dust. The pallid walls of Minas Morgul continued to stare at him, whispering that his death was at hand.

    The worst of the noxious wind passed by, leaving heavy, still air. Sam tried to wash away the worst of the taste with a swallow of water but it didn't help.

    Nor did the drum which continued to beat, throbbing in his blood louder than his own heart. There was no real possibility of sleep with that insistent noise ringing in his ears like a clap of thunder and making the ground tremble.

    Legolas decided the same and came to his feet. "They do not seem to be moving yet."

    "You know what's going on?" Sam asked. "It is a drum, isn't it?"

    "A drum, yes." He cocked his head slightly, glancing across the valley. "I hear an army behind the gates of the city: horses, and men, and orcs. A great many orcs."

    Sam's gaze returned to Minas Morgul and the deserted road below. "They're going to war against Gondor," he whispered and followed the road westward until it disappeared around the curve of the mountain.

    "I fear so," Legolas agreed. "Yet it may be good for us."

    Sam frowned up at him, curious how he came to that conclusion.

    "If the Dark Lord prepares for war, he will not be keeping a close eye on his interior. This may be our best chance to get past the border. Come, let us try the stairs."

    Wearily, Sam shouldered the pack which seemed to have gained heavy stones in it since he had put it down, and followed.

    They began the long climb. The stairs were endless, one after another, without a landing or a change in direction, just ever upward between two smooth towering walls. Sam glanced back once and wished he hadn't -- there were no railings here, and nothing to prevent him from falling all the way to the bottom. It was really more like a ladder up to the heavens, than stairs.

    Still Sam trudged on, not daring to stop since he knew his legs would collapse like jelly if he stopped. He had to watch his footing carefully, since the steps were uneven. A slip or the turn of a loose stone under his foot would mean a long fall.

    Yet he was not the one to lose his footing. Instead it was the usually sure-footed elf, whose boot landed on a step that utterly crumbled away. He crashed down and began slide toward Sam, loosening an avalanche of loose stones and pebbles ahead of him.

    Sam looked up in horror -- in the narrow defile there was nowhere to go to escape the onrush. He pressed himself to one wall, trying to avoid the stones and frantically wondering how he was going to stop Legolas and keep from falling himself.

    Legolas stretched out his legs to drag them against the walls, while his hands groped for the steps to slow his backward fall. With a last shower of dust, he stopped only a few steps above Sam. The last bits of stone fell to the bottom of the stairs and as the last echoes died away, Sam listened nervously for a sign the enemy had heard.

    All was as silent as a barrow after the last mourner had gone home.

    Legolas slowly got to his feet, but did not seem harmed. He paused to listen as well, and let out a relieved breath at hearing nothing. He brushed off the worst of the dust and unexpectedly flashed a bit of a smile at Sam, his teeth white in his dust-covered face. "I would ask you not speak to Aragorn about my sudden clumsiness. He would tell Elladan and Elrohir, and _forever_ is a very long time to hear about it." 

    Sam smiled tiredly back. Though he had met the twins only briefly in Rivendell, he had noticed that they treated Legolas like a younger brother and were not above teasing him. The moment of levity seemed to push the gloom a little farther away. "I promise."

    They continued their journey without further mishap. At last the stairs came to an end. Sam lifted his leg for another step and nearly fell on his nose when there was no step there.

    There was a landing, which was a wide ledge high up from the valley floor. The path continued on the other side, more gradually rising and winding around some pitched and jagged rocks. Sam sat down, his legs unable to support him anymore they were trembling and cramping so badly. He rubbed at them and cast disgusted glares at Legolas, who remained standing and was not even breathing hard.

    Instead the elf wandered to the edge of the ledge, climbing up on a sharp pinnacle of stone to look down into the Morgul valley. Sam could just see the top of the highest tower between the rocks on the edge.

    "What do you see?" Sam asked. He considered asking Legolas to come down from his dangerous perch but was too tired.

    Legolas shook his head. "Nothing. Nothing stirs. Eat something and rest, Sam."

    Sam nodded, agreeing with the wisdom of that, even if Legolas didn't follow it for himself. He ate a handful of the nuts and dried fruit and a strip of dried meat, washing it all down with a carefully rationed swallow of water. He had yet to hear even a trickle of flowing water, though he would have to be dying before risking a drink of water so close to Minas Morgul.

    After that, he wrapped himself in his cloak and tried to sleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    They would march at nightfall.

    Legolas didn't know how he knew that, but he was as certain it was a fact as he was that the sun would set somewhere behind the thick clouds of dust.

    He wanted to watch the army pour through the gates. He knew there were many, but he wanted to see the numbers and strength of them. He remembered the waves on waves of goblins mounted on wargs that he had faced at the Battle of the Five Armies, and a thousand years before that, confronting the remnants of the army of Angmar in the upper vales of the Anduin after the fall of Fornost.

    It was a somewhat perverse desire to want to watch, he realized. He should be hurrying through the pass, not waiting here to see the hammer poised to fall on Osgiliath. But he needed to rest. The darkness in this place was an oppressive weight, and the ring seemed more determined to bring him to its notice. The brief glimpse of Eärendil had restored him to himself, when the ring had slipped into control while he had been reeling from the impact of looking upon the fell evil of Minas Morgul. But the star had not given him back his strength or endurance, and he feared it might not return at all while he walked the lands of Shadow.

    Behind him, Sam was breathing softly in his sleep. The hobbit was exhausted, yet continued to plod ahead with impressive and inspiring courage. As long as he refused to give up, Legolas could do no less.

    Though he could not see the sun, he felt the moment it dropped beneath the horizon. The dull brown gloom immediately sank into dark night, without soft golden twilight.

    The ground trembled beneath him, and he straightened. It was beginning.

    A deep rumbling noise, louder than any before, throbbed in the ground and the air, echoing in the crevasses of the mountains. Sam started awake, "What's -- what's happening?"

    But Legolas did not answer. From his vantage point, he saw the eastern sky leap with flame and his own heart answered that call, kindling with eager fire.

    Thunder crashed, as lightning shot with great brilliant spears from the spires of Minas Morgul to the over-hanging clouds.

    A fierce cold wind blew back his cloak, as lightning struck the ground all along the ridge, inching ever closer to Legolas. Yet nothing struck him. The thunder was continuous and deafening, but it could not harm him.

    He threw out both hands and tipped back his head, laughing. 

    "Legolas! Legolas, get down!" 

    But the voice seemed distant and small. Easy to ignore like the buzzing of a bee.

    The glory of the storm enraptured him, and he felt that he could call those lightnings into the palm of his hand. He could throw the lightning bolts and destroy his enemies. And all would cower before the one could wield the lightning --

    A bolt struck the rock beside him, not ten paces away, startling him into awareness again. For an instant pale white energy webbed across the face of the stone before it exploded.

    He held an arm over his face, turning away and crouching low. Sharp fragments of rock pelted him, stinging like little knives in his back and shoulders and nearly pushing him from his perch.

    In the aftermath, the high screams of terrified horses mixed with a familiar, chilling wailing shriek that silenced all other sounds.

    Legolas turned back to look down into the valley, a sudden frost touching his heart.

    The gate was open.

    The host of the enemy marched forth, an inky stain pouring from the gaping mouth of Minas Morgul. Their weapons glinted, but all else about them was dark, like deepest shadow. They were orcs, thousands and thousands of orcs, marching in well-ordered troops. Cavalry led them -- horses dyed dark or covered with cloth and armor, carrying mounted men.

    At their head rode their general, astride a black horse and robed in black, except for the iron helm, like a crown, that flickered with corpse-light.

    Once Legolas saw the figure, his gaze could not tear away. The Witch-King. Lord of the Nazgûl. General of Sauron. Legolas' left hand burned with cold fire that crept up his arm to lodge in his chest so he couldn't breathe.

    The Witch-King halted on the bridge, and all his army stilled in eerie silence behind him.

    The helmed head turned and seemed to sniff the air, searching for what it sensed had drawn near.

    Into that stillness Legolas knew he should move. He was standing less than a league from the Witch-king in plain view on his pinnacle of rock and he knew the elvish shimmer of starlight around him would be visible.

    But he couldn't move. The oppressive silence weighed him down. He was a fly caught in tree-sap, unable to fly free as it poured slowly over him.

    Part of him thirsted to put on the ring, which would surely draw the Witch-king's notice. But somehow the desire was also distant, a scratching at the window when he stood within an empty hall.

    If he put on the ring, the power of the lightning would be his, a treacherous voice whispered in the emptiness. He could call the power forth and cast it down. He could destroy the Nazgûl and his army. He could _save_ Gondor.

    He heard the whisper, but he did not move.

    The Witch-King turned and spurred his horse across the bridge.

    Legolas felt the grip of darkness loosen and closed his eyes in relief, letting out a long silent breath. Too close. The temptation had been so strong, the lure of it so great when confronted by his enemy, he had almost put on the ring.

    There was little time left now. He had to destroy it, before its seduction became too strong to resist.

    But he stayed several minutes to watch the enemy below. The Witch-King's army followed their leader, more than ten thousand marching out of sight to the west. It was a larger force than Legolas had ever seen before, surely greater than any since the Second Age. With a chill, he realized the vast army did not include any Haradrim or Easterlings. Where were they? Where were the rest of the Nazgûl and their foul beasts of the air? Did Mordor have yet another army marching this night, to catch Gondor between two hammers?

    "Legolas?" Sam's small voice caught his attention, rousing him from his speculation of horror.

    Legolas turned and lightly jumped down to the path. Sam's broad face was worried. The hobbit asked, "Are you all right?"

    Legolas ignored the question as one he was not prepared to answer. "The army has marched from Minas Morgul," he murmured. "Led by the Witch-King." He shook his head once, seeing the size of the force again in memory. "Their numbers are like the stars, Sam. Osgiliath will fall, and Minas Tirith after it."

    Sam swallowed hard. "Unless we destroy the ring."

    Legolas hesitated, but he pushed the reluctance away. "Yes, of course. We must continue on."

    He led the way again, through a narrow rising passage to where it opened out into treacherous scattered rocks. Then to another stairway.

    Sam paused to look in dismay. "More steps?" he muttered and heaved a sigh of resignation before beginning the climb.

    But these stairs were not so difficult and steep as the one before, switching back and forth as it climbed, ever coiling back on itself until Legolas was nearly tempted to climb straight up and across the face, to take the short way. But he knew Sam would never be able to follow him, and in his own present weariness and weakness, it was likely too perilous for him as well.

    It did not help his frustration that he began to catch a faint whiff of some new foul scent as they climbed. It passed so swiftly he could not identify it, but it made him uneasy. He did not believe the path was wholly deserted.

    The path came to the crown at last and Sam sat down with a weary sigh, to drink a mouthful of water and idly chew some dried fruit. "What's that, do you suppose?" he gestured off east where there was a reddish glow beneath the clouds and a tall spire thrusting upward from the distant ridge.

    Legolas could see it more clearly, outlined by the light behind it. "A guard tower on the pass, I suspect," he murmured. "That seems to be the direction our path turns. It looks Gondorian. I suspect it was put there to watch Mordor in the early years of this age."

    "And the Enemy took it."

    "Long ago," Legolas agreed. "The sun will rise as we get nearer. I should see more detail. Perhaps we will be able to evade their notice."

    Sam just nodded. Then he lifted his head sharply, wrinkling his nose. "What's that smell? Like spoiled food and moldy old books."

    Legolas had caught the scent as well and his grip tightened on his bow. Pure liquid hate seemed to flow in his veins instinctively in the moment he recognized the smell. Elves of Mirkwood loathed spiders only a hairsbreadth less than orcs, sometimes more since the multi-legged monsters were more common under the eaves of the forest. "Spiders," he hissed.

    "Where?" Sam jumped to his feet and glanced around in panic.

    "Not here," Legolas gestured with his free hand for Sam to calm down and be easy. "But close. It is the smell of a spider lair. Stay near me."

    Sam nodded, his eyes wide and frightened. He grasped the hilt of Sting as they walked and stared into the shadows to either side, very nearly on Legolas' heels.

  


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Continued in Chapter 11: The Dark Lair 


	11. The Dark Lair

_Disclaimer: Based on 'The Lord of the Rings', by JRR Tolkien. This is a non-commercial work. No infringement of copyright is intended._

"Window of the Sunset" is the fourth in the _Broken Fellowship Series_. It is ** strongly** recommended that you read the previous stories first.  


_ Shelob vs. Legolas. _ One will live, one will die. Enjoy! 

  


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The Broken Fellowship, Book IV:

_Window of the Sunset_

_Chapter 11: The Dark Lair_

by Lizardbeth Johnson

  


    The going was slow with the path winding through rocks. Twice Legolas had to back track, losing the path for a trail that led nowhere. But he noticed that the path began to bend northward, until it passed between two pillars and into a ravine. The path was clear as a road then, heading straight up the ravine toward a high cliff-face.

    The foul smell grew stronger as well, and Legolas began to feel that strange awareness in his blood that bespoke evil. The lair was closer now. He walked in the center of the ravine, senses attuned for the least movement to either side, and pulled out an arrow to put to the string. The ravine was only about twenty paces across and mostly bare, smoothed stone except for a few larger boulders behind them. He and Sam were utterly boxed in. Yet he saw no movement of spiders descending the walls around them as he expected.

    They walked into the deep shadow at the foot of the wall, Legolas' steps slowing. There was an opening within that wall, and from that cave, the stench was pouring out.

    That cave was the lair. The only question was whether that cave was also the continuation of the path.

    Had he missed the path? Among all the rocks perhaps he had lost the true way. But he knew, in his heart, that this was the path -- straight through a lair that smelled much worse and was far older than any lair Legolas had ever seen in Mirkwood.

    Sam coughed, the reek getting caught in his throat. "Are you sure this is the way? Through there?"

    "I believe so," Legolas answered, but could not move closer to the entrance of the cave.

    The sense of loathsome evil was growing stronger. Much stronger than the spiders of Mirkwood. It was a power the ring recognized, but did not rule. The approaching evil was just as ancient, but was not a servant of Morgoth. It had no desire to rule or enslave, only destroy. It was hungry and thirsty, seeking to swallow all light and all life in the world.

    It sensed elf, a much better meal than the scrawny orcs or slaves occasionally tossed to it by Sauron. Long years had it been since it sucked the juicy light right out of elf bones.

    Legolas fell back a step and raised his bow. "It's coming. Sam, move back."

    Sam needed no further urging. He ran back to shelter among the boulders near the entrance and pulled Sting free.

    On a cloud of choking foulness, it emerged from the cave. For one instant, Legolas felt dismay and his skin shuddered in horror. This creature was vast, many times the size of its cousins in Mirkwood. Its head with its hundreds of faceted eyes reared higher than Legolas' own, glittering with malice that stretched back to the days before the first dawn. It was an unfathomably ancient evil spawned by Ungoliant, the demon-spider queen who had destroyed the Two Trees in Valinor and cast all the world into shadow.

    Shining black carapace merged with the sickly pale, ponderous abdomen that hung nearly to the ground and looked like a giant grub beneath a rock. The claws as big as his own feet clicked on the stone. The jaws worked, slavering with eagerness.

    He shot arrow after arrow, at the baleful eyes, at the great maw, at her abdomen and found no weakness in her armor. His arrows struck her glittering eyes, and several went dark, but she had plenty more. He reached back and found his quiver was empty.

    She stood there and seemed to enjoy her prey's desperate struggles.

    Legolas felt a great calm descend on him as he stared back at the creature. There was nothing left within him but his desire to battle this creature and destroy it. He drew his sword.

    "Come, abomination," he challenged. "Your kind wove your webs in the valley of Dungortheb when the world was young, but you could not pass into Doriath, home of my kin. I do not fear you."

    The blade of Boromir's sword glinted with blue light, so strong was his loathing for this creature, and he held the sword unwavering before him.

    The creature hesitated, struck by the power of the elf before it. Not since the dark days, when she had roamed the surface of the world, had she encountered one so strong.

    But still, Shelob was greater -- greater in evil, greater in strength -- and the life of one so powerful would be all the sweeter.

    She moved, with appalling smoothness for her massive size.

    And Legolas moved, his sword a glimmering arc of fire, dodging the sharp claws and snapping jaws. The sword screeched with terrible noise across the armored plates of her body, but did not penetrate. He rolled clear, batting away a stabbing claw, and jumped back to his feet.

    Again and again they clashed. Not since Gil-galad had fought Sauron before the Barad-dûr had there been an elf more determined to bring down his foe and just as fated to lose.

    Legolas snarled and brought his sword down on the nearest leg, intending to slice it off at the joint. But he forgot he was not wielding his own sword, the blade given to his grandfather Oropher by Fingolfin himself, but rather one made by humans. The blade shattered.

    Legolas ducked frantically, as the sharp spines of the spider's legs bit deeply into the side of his face, and with all his strength he thrust the hilt and its broken blade into the folds of her abdomen. He shouted, "_Gilthoniel, tiro nin, Fanuilos!"_

    She shrieked with the unexpected pain. Poison sprayed from the small wound, bubbling like acid on his overtunic, and he flipped clear, her jaws briefly scoring his shoulder.

    He drew his knives as the two foes regarded each other. Elven-made, the blades glittered with fiercer blue fire that reflected from her eyes like a thousand tiny windows above an endless abyss.

    He knew in that moment, he was going to die. These blades might damage her, but he did not think there was a blade in existence that could penetrate that armor and the thickness of thousands of years of growth within. He would have to get beneath her in order to hope to do any damage at all with his shorter reach.

    _Unless_...

    He had another weapon. A much more powerful weapon. One the spider-queen could not withstand.

    His blood burned to destroy her and utterly wipe her foulness from Middle-Earth forever. This spawn of Ungoliant, mother of all the loathsome spiders of his once-fair home, would die by his hand.

    A smile grew on his face, and he moved back slowly toward the opening of the ravine, luring her away from her hole. He would give her no chance to flee.

    She followed and charged.

    He threw both his knives, and did not watch to see how she batted them away. It distracted her a moment and that was all he needed. He ripped the chain from his neck and pulled the ring off.

    And he slid it onto the first finger of his left hand.

*~*~*~*~*~*

    Sam had sensed the quest going awry from the moment Legolas had stood on top of the pinnacle of stone, laughing as the lightning splashed all around him. Yet that was nothing compared to the dread that filled him as Legolas battled the giant spider.

    Fast as Legolas was, skilled and strong as he was, the spider was as big as the front hall at Bag End and armored. Legolas could barely prick it. The sword was broken and destroyed, and Legolas barely escaped. The side of his face dripped with blood.

    When the elf threw both of his knives, Sam gasped in horror. Legolas was now unarmed. Sam clutched the stone of his hiding place with one hand, while the other gripped Sting. He would throw the sword to Legolas.

    But then Legolas tore the ring from his neck and put it on.

    "NO!" Sam yelled, rising from behind the rock. But it was too late.

    The faint shimmer of starlight around the elf at night brightened until he glowed like the moon. The spider stopped, regarding him warily.

    Legolas' left hand reached up to the sky, the gold of the ring on his finger like a beacon. The clouds boiled and frothed and it grew darker, until all Sam could see was the gleaming figure of Legolas and more faintly, the paleness of the spider's belly.

    The spider began to retreat back toward her lair.

    But Legolas didn't allow her.

    Lightning smote the ground in between the spider and the cave, and the crack of thunder was deafening. Sam clapped his hands over his ears and shut his eyes, and still the brilliance of the lightning flashed through his eyelids as again it struck.

    Then there was no more and Sam warily raised his eyes. He saw the great bulk of Shelob smoking on the ground, unmoving and oozing foul ichor from a blackened, shattered carapace.

    Legolas stood before her, still glowing with the ring radiance. One hand was extended toward the cave and a ball of fire rolled off his fingertips and slammed inside the cave with a muffled sound of an explosion.

    "Legolas?" Sam asked warily, in a voice scarcely able to escape his throat.

    But Legolas -- or whatever he had become -- heard him and whirled. His eyes were unseeing sapphire.

    Sam threw himself down as flames hurtled over his head.

    Then Legolas began to scream.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    **_Now you are mine!_**

    The Eye filled the world, and Legolas trembled before it.

    _No, no -- _

    **_MINE!_** The voice surrounded him and caressed him, seductive and soft, reaching within to stroke deeply. **_You want the power, Firstborn. I can taste your desire. Do not deny what you want. Together we will rule this Middle-Earth, my prince._**

    _No... _ But his voice was weak, his resistance desperate. _No, I will not do this. I am Eldar. I bring your doom._

    **You bring your own. You know this already. This doom was appointed to you from the beginning of time. Come to me. Surrender, my love. Give yourself to the power.**

    The abyss at the center of the Eye pulled him down and try as he might, he could not find a way out.

    He flailed for any twig or blade of grass to save himself from falling. Even as it pulled him down, too strong for his small struggles, he reached out, stretching, seeking aid. 

    He needed more power to help him resist the pull. And he found it.

__

    He grabbed the hand that was suddenly there, warm and strong. "Help me. Please, help me!" Fingers curled around his, and Mithrandir's rich, expressive voice surrounded him, holding him still and safe.

    "I will not let you fall, Legolas," Mithrandir promised.

    And then there was another hand there, atop theirs, slender and pale as the moon, but shining more brightly than the flames of the Eye that sought to swallow him whole.

    "You will have our aid, Ring-bearer." Galadriel's whisper echoed in his mind.

    Then a third hand clasped them all, powerful and long-fingered -- the hand of one who could wield a sword and a quill with equal skill.

    Elrond's strong voice was comfortably familiar. "We stand together, Legolas." He commanded, the scion of the greatest of elves and men, in a tone as deep and unstoppable as the sea, "And we cast the Shadow out!" 

    The power flared from their joined hands: Air, Water, and Fire, woven together with the indivisible Power of Legolas' ring in one torrent, rushing through him and throwing Sauron back. 

    The weight was gone from him, he could breathe and think. For a moment, the darkness was gone.

    And suddenly he could see them all, faint forms of light, but there. They were all so brilliant, and he could see their rings shining like stars. But one was brighter than the rest, and his eyes shone with the light of Aman.

    Legolas knew then, what he should have always known. Or rather, what he had always known, but not understood until that moment. He bowed his head. "Lord Olórin."

    "Legolas," the wise, kind eyes settled on him in great sorrow. "This should not have come to you, merry child of the forest. Yet it is your burden and you bear it with courage. But even so there is but one chance for the light."

    "You must not give it to him, and you must not allow him to take it from you," Galadriel warned. "Or all hope of light has fled."

    "The Fellowship is broken. The quest for Mount Doom has failed," Elrond declared grimly.

    Failed. The truth lay heavily on his heart. He had failed.

    Legolas looked up into the resolute faces of the three other ring-bearers. He could only find strength enough to whisper, "What must I do?" 

    Elrond answered, his grey eyes dark with sorrow and regret. "When all is in darkness, only then will hope come again. It is your fate to bear that darkness, Legolas."

    His heart seemed to stop within his chest as fear held him more tightly than the ring's claws. But it was not a surprise, not truly. Some part of his spirit had known his doom from the moment he had awoken under the boughs of the Golden Wood. "I understand," he whispered and closed his eyes. "Tell my family --" His voice faltered and he could speak no more. How could he ask anyone to tell his father that his only son was lost to the Shadow?

    Elrond's voice was soft and gentle. "I will tell them that you loved them, Thranduilion. Go with Elbereth's grace."

    He felt Galadriel's lips on his forehead, like the touch of a butterfly's wings, and his fear eased. "Namarië," she whispered. The two elves were gone, leaving Olórin and Legolas, with their hands still clasped.

    "Remember this, Erynion," Olórin's free hand touched the side of his face and wiped away a tear from his cheek. "You are Firstborn of the Children of Ilúvatar. And you remain that forever. He has not the power to destroy that."

    Legolas nodded his understanding.

    "Now, remove the ring, child. It is time for you to return to Middle-Earth," Olórin instructed.

    "Will I see you again?" Legolas asked, suddenly fearful.

    "In truth, I do not know," Olórin answered. "For only One knows the end of all. But I believe we will meet again, young Legolas. Until that day, Ilúvatar grant you peace."

    And he was gone.

    Before the Eye could return in strength, Legolas reached down and pulled the Ring from his finger...

    He staggered, unable to find his balance as the world spun and changed around him. He struck something hard with his shoulder, and the pain was enough to jolt him back to awareness. He raised one hand to touch what he had fallen against, and his fingers found the stones of the wall of the ravine. Still he did not yet open his eyes, not ready to face what was to come.

    _Oh Valar, I do not have the strength to do this. Is it not better to die?_

    A small, worried voice broke into his despair. "Legolas? Legolas, can you hear me?"

    It was Sam's voice. Sam was still alive.

    Legolas forced his eyes to open and he turned, to find a scene of destruction. The smoking giant corpse of Shelob still bubbled with reeking poisons. Not far away lay the hilt and melted blade of Boromir's sword, and his two scattered knives flickered.

    Behind him, still half hidden behind a boulder, stood Sam, peering at him, pale as the moon above with wide terrified eyes. But it was Sam, and he looked unhurt. Legolas swayed and caught himself on a stone outcropping.

    "I thought you were dead," Legolas whispered. "I thought I'd killed you."

    "No," Sam said. He warily moved out from behind the boulder and forward a few steps toward Legolas, but not all the way. Legolas saw the fear -- of _him_ - in his eyes and it hurt him in his spirit, that the gentle hobbit should be afraid of him.

    "I ducked. But you got the lair."

    "The lair?" Legolas repeated blankly. He remembered something vaguely about Shelob's lair, but not doing anything to it

    Sam pointed behind him, and Legolas turned again The entrance to Shelob's cave was belching out disgusting, pale grey smoke and he could hear the flames within the tunnels, gleefully licking the strands of the giant spider's webbing.

    "The lair's on fire," Sam explained softly from somewhere behind him. "I saw flames come off your hand."

    "By Elbereth," Legolas whispered and leaned against the stone wall at his back. "We cannot go that way."

    "No, I don't think so," Sam agreed. "We have to go back and find another way."

    His right fist, enclosing the ring, cramped painfully and he loosened his fingers to look at the ring on his palm. A heavy weight of presence pressed upon him, like a hot wind at his back. It was the Eye of Sauron fixed on him now, inescapable whether he wore the ring or not. That meant the Ringwraiths would also know where he was.

    He glanced at his loyal companion and his heart ached. Determination rose within him that this one he would save. He had promised once to do all in his power to get Sam home, and that was a promise he could at least attempt to fulfill.

    "Yes," he said to Sam, knowing the words were a lie. "We must go back and find another way."

    He picked up his knives and his bow, automatically retrieving a handful of arrows for his quiver, and started back the way they had come. Sam followed behind him, but soon noticed that Legolas' pace was slow.

    "Shouldn't we be hurrying?" he asked. "I remember Gandalf told us that the wraiths could sense the ring when it's used. Aren't they going to be coming to find us?"

    With bleak amusement, Legolas thought, _why come find us, when this path ends at their door? _But aloud he said only, "They will ride up the main pass, expecting to find us down there, not up here."

    _Nor have I a desire to meet my doom swiftly, Master Samwise. What will come, will come, whether or not I hurry to meet it._

  


* * *

To be concluded in Chapter 12: Fallen into Shadow 


	12. Fallen into Shadow

_Disclaimer: Based on 'The Lord of the Rings', by JRR Tolkien. This is a non-commercial work. No infringement of copyright is intended._

"Window of the Sunset" is the fourth in the _Broken Fellowship Series_. It is ** strongly** recommended that you read the previous stories first.  


** Many, many thanks **to those who reviewed or otherwise let me know you enjoyed this story (and the previous ones as well). Knowing there are people who are following the tale gives me inspiration to keep going and finish. (and yes, I know how it all ends).

Here we go, the last chapter of 'Window of the Sunset'. There's a preview at the end for the sequel. I'm going to be over there, hiding under the desk. :)   


* * *

  
****

The Broken Fellowship, Book IV:

_Window of the Sunset_

_Chapter 12: Fallen into Shadow_

by Lizardbeth Johnson

  


    Sam followed Legolas back down the Winding Stair. Both were weary, but they knew they dared not stop.

    At some point, Sam thought the sun must have risen. The darkness was slightly less oppressive, but he had no good idea of how long it had been since Legolas had worn the ring.

    Remembering what had happened before with the Balrog, he was grateful that Legolas was not now suffering the same. Yet it also made cold fingers of uneasiness creep up his spine.

    He had seen Legolas' face gashed by a spider claw, yet now the cut was gone leaving only a smear of dried blood. There seemed to be no ill-effects at all from wearing the ring, but Sam did not believe that could be true. There was a great deal which Legolas was not saying. 

    They paused at the same ledge, where shattered stone still littered the ground. Minas Morgul was there, gleaming balefully, but there was nothing stirring below.

    "Why aren't they doing something?" Sam whispered, frowning in confusion. "Shouldn't they be all alert? Looking for us?"

    Legolas smiled, sadly. But he did not answer. "We must keep going, Sam."

    Legolas walked down the Straight Stair. He walked slowly, but this time kept his footing all the way down. Sam was not able to do it, instead crawling down backwards as though it was a ladder.

    At the bottom he was exhausted. He had done those stairs twice now in one day -- or perhaps two, it was hard to be sure -- and had scarcely slept. The heady, sickly scent of the flowers touched his nose and made his head swim again.

    For a long moment, Legolas stared up at the dire fortress, and Sam was afraid that it was calling Legolas again. But then the elf turned and led the way back to the group of tumbled boulders that had sheltered them before. "Rest," he urged Sam in a bare murmur. "It is still day, and the valley is quiet."

    "We should keep going," Sam protested tiredly, but couldn't help slipping his pack from his aching shoulders.

    "I will keep watch," Legolas offered, but even he knelt on the ground, no doubt as weary as Sam, just not showing it as much.

    Sam barely had the strength to swallow a few nuts and he curled up in his cloak, Sting's hilt clasped in his hand.

    Legolas sat with his bow across his lap, a solid, bright sentinel when all about was shadowed.

    He caught Sam's gaze with his own, and he offered another faintly sad smile. "Rest, Samwise," he murmured. "The night will pass and the sun will rise."

    Very softly he began to sing. The words were elvish, so Sam didn't understand though he knew it was full of grief. Yet as the song continued, he realized he did know what it was about. The knowledge stole over him gently, as he closed his eyes and let the sweet music push away the shadows.

    It was the lament of the Noldor as they left Valinor behind, to sail toward the dark shores of Middle-Earth.

    Yet despite the sorrow, the shimmering beauty of the song embraced him, and he felt protected and at peace as he sank into sleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*

    Sam started awake, certain that someone had called his name. He stirred and looked around. All was quiet. Legolas was not there. At first, Sam was not too alarmed -- he saw the elf's bow propped against one of the stones, pale grey in the gloom of the daylight.

    But then he noticed, beneath the bow, was a tidy pile of Legolas' quiver and weapons harness. The daggers were still in their sheaths.

    Having seen how reluctantly Legolas parted from his weapons, Sam had a sudden hollow pit in his stomach. Climbing to his feet, he muttered, "Should have known. Let's see where you've gone then, Master Legolas. You'll not do this without me."

    Hoping Legolas hadn't had too much of a head start, he peered around the boulders to see whether Legolas was within sight.

    The situation was much worse than he had imagined.

    Legolas was standing on the middle of the bridge, framed by the greenish glow of Minas Morgul behind him and the black depths of its open gate. At the fortress end of the bridge, blocking the Morgul road, stood four tall, black-cloaked Ringwraiths. 

    Another, their great leader, the helmed and crowned Witch-King, was mounted on his horse blocking the other end of the bridge.

    Legolas faced the Witch-King, and though Sam could not see his expression, his posture was straight and proud.

    Sam hissed in dismay. Legolas had left his weapons here. What had he been thinking? What was he planning?

    Then he frowned. Were they speaking? Sam thought he heard Legolas' voice, but the words were snatched by the wind.

    Legolas then turned and walked toward the four waiting wraiths. 

    Sam's breath caught in his throat, expecting one of the wraiths to draw a weapon and slay the elf right there. But they did not. The four merely moved to surround Legolas. The Witch-King followed, and the five escorted their prisoner toward Minas Morgul.

    Prisoner? The cold thought came to Sam that Legolas might not be a prisoner of anything but the ring. He was not bound and he had not seemed to resist capture.

    Perhaps the Nazgûl were escorting their lord to his fortress.

    No, it had to be a plan. Legolas knew what he was doing. He had, Sam realized, been singing his farewell to Sam as Sam fell asleep, because he had intended this. He had not wanted Sam to be captured with him. That concern was not the action of someone swallowed by the ring.

    Yet the question remained: What was Legolas planning?

    The gates clashed shut, swallowing Legolas within terrible darkness.

    Sam remained where he was for several hours as twilight gave way to darkness. Only the moon shone down fitfully through breaks in the clouds.

    But the cloud cover thickened, until the shadows deepened around Minas Morgul. The fortress glimmered with an eerie, sickly glow. Lightning crashed, striking up from the spires and spreading across the sky in a triumphant display. Sam tried to avoid looking at the fortress as much as possible, knowing that his friend was within, in possibly unspeakable torment. 

    He ached to help, yet Sam knew there was nothing he could do. A small hobbit could never hope to penetrate the gloomy fastness of Minas Morgul on his own.

    He couldn't move away. He knew he should, but he waited anyway. Something else was going to happen.

    Perhaps an hour passed. The silence was broken by a groan of stone and metal and he peeked around. His heart started to pound with dismay and fear.

    The gates were opening again. Six black steeds emerged -- four bearing wraiths, a fifth carrying the Witch-King, and the sixth with Legolas upon his back.

    The Witch-King bowed his head to Legolas, then wheeled his horse around and galloped across the bridge toward his waiting army at the river.

    The other four wraiths surrounded Legolas. Sam squinted and couldn't tell if Legolas' hands were tied to the front of his saddle or if his hands were just resting there. But in any case, the elf's fair form still glimmered with the echoes of starlight, unquenched by Minas Morgul. The five horses galloped up the road, going east toward the Nameless pass and heading eventually to the Barad-dûr.

    Sam pressed back against the stone, closing his eyes tightly and trying not to cry. Maybe this was part of the plan. Maybe Legolas intended to escape his four guards and ride for Mount Doom. They both had looked at Faramir's map, and Mount Doom was, sort of, on the way to the tower.

    He hoped so, but in his heart he knew. The quest had failed. The ring was now in the hands of the Enemy.

    He forced himself to take a deep breath and think. There was now only one choice. He had to do what Legolas had told him to do, if he were left behind. He had to get to Minas Tirith and tell them what had happened. 

    In the shadows of the great boulders he slid Legolas' dagger sheaths into the side pocket of his pack, leaving the quiver and harness. It was awkward to carry the long-bow but he refused to leave his friend's weapons for the enemy to find and despoil.

    Keeping to the side of the road, Sam turned around and began the long march west in the footsteps of the dread Witch-King. He had no idea how -- or if -- he would be able to pass through the army of Mordor unseen and reach his friends. He only knew he must. He had to deliver a warning.

    Gondor believed it faced a fearsome shadow of Mordor. But soon, Sam would tell them, soon worse would come. The Ring of Power would come into Sauron's hand, and what had seemed like darkness, would prove to be mere twilight.

    The sun would set on Middle-Earth and the night would fall.

    As bleak despair was about to take hold of his heart, he remembered Legolas' words to him, not long before: "_The night will pass and the sun will rise._"

    Sam repeated the words to himself in a whisper. Elves had the gift of foresight, he knew, and he believed that what Legolas had told him was the truth.

    The night would come, cloaking all the world in Shadow. And it would be terrible and dark. Yet in the end, the sun would rise, and light would come again.

    A kernel of unquenchable hope sparkled in Sam's heart, and it gave him strength all through that long march into the west.

    A long way behind him, Legolas rode deeper into the shadows of the east, rushing to meet his destiny. 

  
_"Where once was light, now darkness falls.  
Where once was love, love is no more.   
Don't say goodbye. Don't say I didn't try...  
And we will weep to be so alone.  
We are lost. We can never go home."_  
  
     -- "Gollum's Song" from _LOTR: The Two Towers_, lyrics by Fran Walsh. 

* * *

To Be Continued in **The Broken Fellowship, Book V: _The Return of Annatar_**

The Ringbearer has failed. Darkness has fallen on Middle-Earth. Only one hope remains, hanging upon a slender thread: the King of the West must take up his rightful place and confront the ancient evil power who was once his friend...

**Coming Soon!** (ok, that's relative, considering how long this one took, but probably early fall...) 

Reviews cherished! And/or comments are always welcome at lizardbeths_tale@yahoo.com 


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